


Echo Answers

by aradian_nights



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aggressively Polyamorous Eren, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Child Neglect, Ghosts, Horror, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mystery, Past Child Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-02-19 07:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 242,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2380082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aradian_nights/pseuds/aradian_nights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armin Arlert, an aspiring investigative journalist, returns to his hometown in order to try and solve the mystery of the disappearance of Eren Jaeger, who'd gone missing seven years ago. With the help of his friends, he imagines he can probably figure out what had triggered Eren's disappearance. The only trouble is that all of them are liars, and as Armin puzzles out truth, he fears that it should've stayed buried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [narfiffiftic (maladictive)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maladictive/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NARFI!!
> 
> Okay, so I was a bit iffy with tagging it as eremin bc like??? I don't even know what constitutes as romance, but I'm gonna try my best, and it might even end up eremikarmin which would be nice, wouldn't it? 
> 
> It's a long fic, but it'll never be the monster vpl was. I'm trying not to focus on as many characters for time's sake. 
> 
> To everyone else: there is no distinct setting for this fic. I made it intentionally vague. Have fun with that!

**cleverness and gullibility**

The soft patter of pebbles colliding with glass had awoken him from a hazy dream. He'd been doing some late night cramming, and it seemed to him that he must've fallen asleep at his desk because his cheek was stuck to the razor thin page of his history text book, the details of the past becoming hazy in the midst of the foggy present. He lifted head to squint out the window, and he'd felt strange, as though his mind and soul had been swallowed by a swelling bog.

He'd treaded carefully across the cool wooden floor, his toes wriggling as he reminded himself not to wake up his grandfather. He peered out through the porous fly screen, and he found himself greeted by the luminous face of Eren Jaeger, grinning like a fool as he bounced up and down in the grass below.

This couldn't end well.

Armin popped out the fly screen, feeling cold and nervous as the bitter rush of late autumn wind came snapping at his face, rabid and snarling like a dog gone mad. He shuddered a little.

"Eren," he whispered as loudly as he could, wiping the saliva from his cheek. "Eren, what are you doing? It's like, three in the morning, or… or something…"

"I want to show you something," his best friend called, looking much too pleased for someone standing outside in the frigid air with nothing but a thin pair of jeans and a sweater zipped up to his chin.

"That's not ominous at all," Armin remarked, feeling vacant and sad, though he could not say why. "What kind of something?"

"I found something in the woods," Eren said. He wasn't smiling anymore. In fact, he'd looked downright somber, if memory served. "You love mysteries, don't you, Armin?"

 _I do_ , he thought numbly,  _I do, I do, I love mysteries, but something's not right here_.

"I don't know, Eren," he'd said instead, his eyes swiveling toward the door. He thought he'd heard a creaking floorboard, but he couldn't be sure if it had been his grandfather or his own unsteady feet. "But I don't want you going into the woods alone."

"Then come with me," he said eagerly. "Mikasa will meet us there. It'll be just like when we were little!"

"Shh!" Armin's eyes were still on his door, but he heard no more sounds and sensed no more oddities, so he figured he'd be okay if he continued talking. He turned back to look down at Eren, and he felt an anxious knot clench up inside his gut. "Please, Eren, don't go into the woods."

Eren's only reply was a vacant little stare that gleamed in the darkness, and a furrowed brow as though he simply could not fathom Armin's warning.

He hadn't listened.

The next morning Armin woke up with a terrible headache, the kind that left the entire body weak and achy, and it had prevented him from going to school or even attempting to contact Eren and Mikasa. Armin had been fearful and ashamed because Eren had not listened to his advice to stay out of the forest, and not only that but Armin felt as though he'd disappointed him in some way. He wanted to make it up to him, but he didn't know how, and he was too scared to go into the forest alone, even if Mikasa and Eren were there to protect him. It just wasn't a fair arrangement, and he regretted every moment spent away from his best friends.

Armin had slept through most of the day and woken up on the couch. His headache was fading by that point, so he went back up to his room to lie down on his bed and call his friends to make sure they were okay. He threw a blanket onto the bare mattress, closing his eyes and letting himself come back to his mind slowly. He didn't feel right about any of this. He scratched his knuckles as he plucked up his phone and flipped it open, dialing Eren's number and waiting.

He waited.

And waited.

And waited.

" _Hey, you've retched— fuck, I fucked up. Okay, whatever, this is Eren, uh, obviously…? I guess, so leave a message I guess, I don't care, I don't actually check them usually. Okay. Bye_!" The beep at the end of the recording was ear shattering, and Armin blinked a few times afterward. He felt sick to his stomach.

"Eren," he said quietly. "Eren, call me back. Please."

He hung up, not knowing what else to say. He texted Eren a few more times after that, begging him to call immediately, but no call came, and there was an uneasy feeling squirming inside the pit of his stomach. What had happened last night?

Armin had been confined to his house for an entire day, sickened and exhausted, which he attributed to overworking. It didn't help that he was riddled with anxiety over the fact that his friends had not contacted him since the previous night.

He became so distraught, in fact, that by the end of the night he'd locked himself in the bathroom and scratched at his knuckles so furiously they bled. It was a nervous habit, one that never went away, and he felt even more distressed when he realized what he'd done, so he ran his hands under hot water for a little while, just a little while, until he felt better.

As he'd begun to bandage his fingers, the house phone rang.

Armin ran to pick it up.

"Hello?" he asked breathlessly, too anxious to even check the caller ID. "Eren?"

"No," a calm voice from the other end of the receiver said. It was an older man's voice, a bit raspy perhaps from smoking. Armin closed his eyes, his heart thundering. He knew without the man having to say. "Is this Armin Arlert?"

"Yes, sir," he said, feeling the need to sound as calm as the man on the other line. "Who is this?"

"My name is Dot Pixis," said the man, sounding kindly enough. "I'm with the Shiganshina Police Department."

"Oh," Armin said blankly. His mouth had gone dry. "Okay…? Why are you calling me, Mr. Pixis?"

Armin didn't really need to be told. He felt like he'd known all along.

"You're very good friends with Mr. Eren Jaeger, correct?" Pixis asked. "When was the last time you spoke to him?"

Armin felt a strange bubbling panic rise up in his chest, and he thought about it for only a moment.

"Last night," he said, "after dinner, he called me about some homework stuff. Is everything okay, officer?"

He didn't know why he'd lied.

He was absolutely terrified, and he felt as though there was something going on that he could not understand or reach, and he hated that he'd been too much of a coward to go along with Eren's scheme.

"Would you happen to know of any reason Eren would have to run away?" Pixis asked tentatively.

"I…" Armin stood in his kitchen, feeling dizzy and nauseous and horrified. His voice was weak, disbelieving, and shaky as he spoke up. "Officer Pixis… is Eren okay…?"

The line was quiet for only a few moments before the man let out a long sigh.

"Carla Jaeger gave me your number," Pixis said cautiously, "because you were not picking up this morning. Armin, I don't want to worry you, but your friend has been missing for about twenty four hours."

It was difficult to grasp what he was saying, even though Armin had suspected for hours and hours now. He felt sweat gather in the folds of his palm as he dug the phone receiver against his ear and closed his eyes, trying to hold back the frantic tears and the panicked breaths.

"Missing…?" he uttered distantly.

* * *

The milky white cement blocks of his dorm room wall were ugly and bare. He gripped his sad little cardboard box tighter as Jean tore away the last of the scotch tape used to pin up various memorabilia across the years. The box was small, because Armin didn't have very many photographs, and he'd mostly covered his wall with maps and sticky notes and vague reminders. Half of it was in the trash now.

"Well," Jean said, inspecting his handy work. "That's that, then."

He jumped down from Armin's bed, tossing a postcard into the box without much care. The postcard was of the massive river that stretched through the extent of Shiganshina, running through downtown and snaking through the woods and into a closed off ravine that teenagers loved to occupy. It was such a huge pitted area, and locals called the great crags that led into a cavernous pool "Titan's Maw". It got its name because of the death toll from the numerous jumpers who'd gotten trapped and swallowed up by the depth and unpredictable river currents.

Of course, search teams had scoured Titan's Maw time and again for Eren's body, but all they'd found was a sneaker that  _could've_  been Eren's, but also could've easily been another kid's. Armin had seen the sneaker, and though it'd been cleaned up, he couldn't tell if it was Eren's because the paint had faded and Eren's shoes had always been generic in style.

Anyway, that'd been years ago. Nobody was looking for Eren Jaeger anymore.

Well, almost nobody.

"Are you sure about this, man?" Jean asked, glancing down at Armin worriedly. "I mean, you said it yourself. You hate that place."

He'd thought about it a lot the past few months, and the decision had been rather abrupt. It had come, in fact, from a series of texts Mikasa had left him over the winter break. Mikasa kept in touch as often as she could, but she sometimes drifted off into periodic silences that only ever lifted after days of nothing. He was hopelessly concerned for her, and he wished she'd left for college with him. She'd decided to stay in Shiganshina for a reason she apparently felt was obvious.

"For Eren," she'd explained when he'd begged her to apply to the same university as him, and she'd refused.

Armin understood, and he felt guilty for leaving Eren behind as well, but the fact was that he felt as though Shiganshina had drained him of half his sanity. So he'd left. And now he was going back solely because of Mikasa Ackerman's sleepy messages.

He'd screenshotted them and read them over and over and over.

He set the box down on the floor and sat on his bed, pulling out his phone to read them again. Jean glanced at him, and he rolled his eyes.

_why did we go into the woods, armin_

It had begun on a chilly December night. One message at one in the morning. He'd replied hastily in confusion.

**_What?_ **

w _hy did i liten to him wy can't w go back why on't we go back i want to go back let's go back!_

**_Holy shit, Mikasa, are you okay?_ **

Initially he'd been incredibly freaked out, because these texts were from Mikasa's phone but none of this nonsense sounded like Mikasa and it scared the shit out of him. The messages had kept coming for a solid hour.

_i feel funny i think very funny_

_i hear hs sound rushing along inside my ears ht rushig ruhing slow sound it's king me sick i'm so recked i think very much so and i feel like there's something bad here but i don't know!_

**_I think you might just be high…_ **

_time flows like a river doesn't it_

**_I guess so._ **

_don't get stuck in it like he did_

_that's what my dad used to tell me_

_flow slow and feel nothing_

_i feel time weird is that weird is this weird_

_are you there, armin_

_i think i need to lay down but_

_ah_

_where are you_

_are you okay_

_answer me please i'm not i don't think i am_

**_Go to sleep, Mikasa._ **

_? ? ? You just woke me up_

_What's wrong_

…  _Armin, I didn't write that_

Anyway, it had been an eventful few days after getting scared out of his wits by what Mikasa later claimed was a mixture of getting high and letting Annie Leonhardt play with her phone while high. She said she didn't remember writing it, and apologized profusely about it, but Armin never forgot it. It proved something.

Mikasa had lied to the police. She'd said Eren had called her and asked her if she wanted to go exploring in the woods, and she'd told him to quit fooling around and go to bed. She'd lied.

But so had Armin.

Maybe it was his fault Eren hadn't been found yet.

"Are you looking at the texts again?" Jean asked, sounding rather irked for some reason or another.

"Yep." Armin hummed, scrolling up to reread some of Mikasa's earlier texts. There was something very wrong with all of it, but he couldn't place why.

"Dude, people say weird shit when they're buggin'," Jean said, taking the box from Armin's bed. He pursed his lips and glanced up at the ceiling. "I'd know for sure."

"Mikasa was telling me something," Armin sighed. "I'm sure of it. I need to see her and talk to her about what happened the night Eren disappeared."

"Or maybe she was just seriously baked well done, and could not make a coherent sentence to save her life?" Jean offered, taping the box shut and tossing it onto Armin's old bare desk. It was a little sad to be leaving this room. He'd spent many late night cram sessions here. And also, Shiganshina was not a happy place anymore.

 _It's still home, though_ , Armin thought, tossing his phone away and rubbing his eyes furiously.

"Look," Armin said, dropping his hands into his lap. "I know it doesn't mean much to you, but Mikasa is the only person in the entire world who understands me better than anyone. That doesn't mean I don't think she lied to the police about meeting Eren in the woods, though. She's definitely keeping something from me."

"So what if you end up finding Eren's body out there in the river, or whatever?" Jean stuck a cigarette between his teeth, and Armin watched him thumb at the lighter for a moment or so, looking irritable when it spat and guttered out. "Like you can't expect Eren to still be alive, can you?"

"I don't know," Armin sighed, closing his eyes and flopping onto his back. " _Logically_  I shouldn't entertain the thought of it, but there's always a chance he was abducted."

"And murdered," Jean reminded, his words punctuated by the wiggling of his cigarette.

"I just don't get it." Armin watched the grooves of the ceiling, and he scowled. "I'm missing something huge, I just know it! If I can get Mikasa to tell me what she knows, I can definitely solve this case."

"You think you're more reliable than the police?" Jean scoffed, finally getting a light on the end of his cigarette. Smoke bloomed at casually, a familiar scent by now to a boy who'd bent a few years getting second hand cancer.

Armin sat up, swallowing thickly as he wrapped his mind around the issue at hand. Eren had been missing for years. He'd vanished without a trace, and the case had gone cold before it had even really been investigated. But Armin wasn't a cop, and he didn't have to play fair. He'd find out what happened to Eren, one way or another.

"I  _know_  I am," Armin said firmly.

* * *

They'd taken a train to Shiganshina. It was only a few hours, but to Armin it felt like lifetimes were stretching out before him in the shapes of wheat fields and craters and jagged city skylines. He felt like he'd forgotten something back at the dorm, but he'd made several checklists, and gone through them all twice in preparation for this. He was as ready as he'd ever be superficially, but mentally he felt as though his mind was still hanging around in that empty dorm room waiting for a sign.

Armin of course had his reasons beyond the strangeness that was Mikasa's frantic texts for wanting to look into Eren's disappearance again. There were no suspects, no evidence to suggest foul play, nothing but an old shoe and a timeline that didn't add up. Armin had wanted to figure out what had really happened since the morning he'd woken up with a blinding headache, memories of Eren's request swimming in his foggy brain.

Considering Armin was on the verge of graduating, and he'd all but finished the majority of his classes, he'd gotten the idea to use Eren's disappearance as a subject for his capstone project. He'd gotten it approved and made arrangements to finish the rest of his classes online while he spent the remainder of his semester in Shiganshina. Jean had done something similar, only his final project was something more of a documentary than an elaborate investigation. Jean was a film major, after all.

When Armin had suggested it, Jean had taken a long drag from a joint and laughed a great puff of foul smelling smoke. "That's a little too ambitious for me," he'd said, rolling his eyes. "Besides, I make movies, not documentaries."

Armin had refrained from laughing at him incredulously, and instead implored him to think about him. Inevitably the guy had come around, because after doing some quick research on Eren Jaeger's disappearance he noted that there was… very little information at all. He'd been missing for years, and there was not a single scrap of information regarding his disappearance open to the public.

"Were they even  _looking_?" Jean had once commented in frustration, flinging his hands out toward his computer screen and scoffing. "God, you wouldn't even know the kid was missing if not for all the social media commentary!"

It had honestly been so long ago that Armin could no longer remember what the investigation had been like. He'd never been given details, no matter how many times he'd asked. It was as though nobody had even tried to find Eren.

"And this, good viewers, is the famed Armin Arlert's resting face," Jean said, sticking his camcorder in Armin's face. His voice managed to jolt Armin out of his reverie. "Creepy, isn't it?"

"Why are you filming me?" Armin asked, feeling vague discomfort in knowing he was being recorded. He turned his face away and began to fiddle with his phone, feeling anxious and bemused. It was bad enough that he was dreading returning to Shiganshina, but he didn't need Jean's more unsavory antics to get on his last nerve. Sometimes when Jean got too unmanageable, Armin would imagine how badly Eren would chew him out for his shameless narcissism and distant personality.

"Who else am I going to film?" Jean lowered the camera, and he frowned. "Dude, you're about to try and singlehandedly solve the mystery of a disappearance that literally has zero plausible explanations, let alone a clear cut investigation. Of course I'm going to film you, this is what my project's about."

"Well, like, can't you give me a warning beforehand?" Armin asked nervously, eying the camcorder with clear agitation. He hoped he wouldn't regret roping Jean into this. He was nice, but he was hardly ever serious, and this investigation was hardly going to be fun. He understood it would take a lot of grueling research, and many all nighters that he wasn't even remotely prepared for.

"Calm down," Jean said, slumping in his seat. "I just want to get some candid shots of you."

"Your documentary isn't about me," Armin reminded. "It's about Eren. Remember that."

The silence that came after was long and awkward, and Armin shifted in discomfort, because he'd known already that Jean had forgotten. He had known, and he was fearful of that fact. He didn't want anyone to ever forget Eren. That was what this was all for.

"Armin," Jean said softly. He peered down at Armin's face, his tawny eyes growing considerably sympathetic. It was odd. "You… you don't think Eren's still alive, do you?"

"What?" Armin couldn't tell if Jean was serious, and so he slumped in his seat and stared vacantly out his window. "How should I know if he's alive or dead? Sure, I hope he's alive, but I'm also not naïve enough to think that there's not a possibility he's buried in a ditch somewhere. That's what we're here to find out. Okay?"

"Okay, man," Jean muttered, glancing at him worriedly. "Jeez."

Armin rubbed his face tiredly, and he tried not to take Jean's words to heart.  _What if he really is dead?_  he thought dizzily.  _What will I do if Eren's gone forever?_ Armin had spent the years entertaining the thought that Eren was alive and happy somewhere, that he'd run away from home to prove a point or something equally outrageous, and now he was off having adventures in the wild, wild world. Armin had always wanted to be a part of these fantasies, to run away and look for himself, but after his grandfather had died Armin had been in a tight situation financially, and it was either a scholarship out of Shiganshina or the loss of his sanity and his future.

He'd always thought he'd chosen wisely, but now he wasn't so sure.

"Hey," Jean whispered excitedly, nudging Armin with his elbow. His finger was extended toward a peak of glinting skyscrapers, glass and steel gleaming like mad little knives about to topple over and pierce their train. The city was one that Armin recognized, if only by the deadly architecture in the twinkling spires. "Look. Home sweet home."

This was Trost.

Trost was an abnormally large district north of Shiganshina, which was in truth more of a small town that had branched off from Trost for some inexplicable reason. Armin had read a few history textbooks, and as he understood it Shiganshina had been a religious refuge while Trost had been something of a city of heretics, breathing songs and art and life in opposition to a stringent old religious order that had long since been lost. Trost had managed to grow into a prosperous city due to its leniency, while Shiganshina had developed into a moderate sized community of some oddly superstitious folk. Sasha had once told him not to pet a passing stray black cat, because it was bad luck. Armin could not bring himself to believe such a thing.

Technically there were no trains that went directly into Shiganshina, so Trost was their stop.

"What was it like?" Armin asked, kicking out his bag from under his seat. "I mean, living in a city. I feel like I would've been terrified to leave my home half the time."

"Nah, the crime rate's not so bad," Jean laughed. "I mean, sure I've gotten mugged once or twice, but that's a learning experience."

He imagined being cornered in a dark alley and getting robbed at gunpoint. He couldn't see why Jean was being so nonchalant about it, but he supposed if it happened enough he'd probably become jaded too.

They exited the train with some vaguely high spirits, Armin's mood boosted by a tingly excitement at the revelation of what was about to happen. He stood at the platform beside Jean, feeling sick with his anxiety and hope, his knuckles white around the handle of his suitcase.

"I should probably like," Jean sighed, "tell my mom that I'm here, probably."

"If that's what you want."

"Eh." Jean rocked back on his heels, and he scanned the platform. Armin took note of those around him, the man near a bench tapping his foot impatiently and checking his watch twice within a span of thirty seconds, a family of four lounging on their suitcases and chattering in a language he did not recognize initially, but assumed to be Arabic, and he saw a young woman sitting and reading alone on a brick wall the encompassed a small garden of rose bushes.

He nearly dropped his bags in excitement.

"Mikasa!" he bellowed.


	2. Chapter 2

**the practical girl**

It was a tiny room, a bed too large for a tiny girl sitting against the far wall and it took up far too much space, gobbling up the empty floor room while the rest of the furniture was stuck in little gaps of space, hugging the walls for dear life. There was one small window, which filtered in grayish light, dust plentiful in the air but not so much on the sill. The walls were a soft gray hue, like smudges of ash drifting across sheetrock, and they were painfully bare. The room looked lonely and empty in spite of being so cramped.

Armin recalled one day stepping up to a great big rectangular frame hung upon Mikasa's wall, pictures of all sorts stuck together in a beautiful collage. He noted pictures of himself strung about, pictures of him smiling a gap toothed smile, rosy cheeked and bright eyed, him shying away from Eren, who was grinning broadly with a beetle cupped in one hand as he faced the camera, him who smiled and smiled and smiled back when there was nothing to frown about, in the woods and in the creek and laying in a bed of leaves with his blond hair melting into strands of black and brown as he and Mikasa and Eren curled on the forest floor, a picture taken at sunset with red soaked smiles and yellow lit eyes.

A photograph had fluttered to the floor.

Armin had bent to pick it up, but he noticed something odd about the space it had left behind. The back of the picture frame was grayish, and then suddenly pink as Armin's hand drew across the space.

A mirror?

"Mikasa," Armin had said, shifting another photo to be sure he wasn't simply seeing things. There was, in fact, a mirror behind the great collage of pictures Mikasa had compiled. Armin dragged his finger across the heavy wooden frame, and he jostled it, noting it seemed to be attached firmly to the wall. He whirled around to face his friend, who was lying on her bed, her arms sprawled out and one eye cracked open to glance at him. She had one earbud in, and the other was connected to Eren's ear. He was lying beside her, seemingly asleep. Armin had felt a pang of jealousy for a reason he could not explain, though for which one of them he could not say. For both. For neither. He wanted their warmth, but he didn't want to intrude. It was simply difficult. "Mikasa, why'd you cover up your mirror?'

She sat up, her hair a bit disheveled as it hung in limp black strands around her shoulders. Some strands were plastered to her neck, sticky from sweat, and she blinked at him blearily. It had been a hot summer day, and they'd only been little children, tiny and bony and gangly and awkward. Even Mikasa, beautiful as she was, and even Eren, as confident and outspoken as he could be.

"Mirror," she repeated. Her voice had been soft and tiny then, shyer and a little unsteady. She rubbed her dark eyes, her lips parting as she stared between Armin and the mirror, and she looked utterly bemused. "Oh. I just don't like it."

"Why?" Armin asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. Eren stirred, and he'd yawned very loudly stretching his arms up and groaning.

"It's hot," he moaned. "Let's go swimming."

"It's getting late, Eren," Mikasa sighed. "Maybe… you two should go home."

Eren gave her a disbelieving look, and he turned onto his side, curling up in her blankets, a clear response that he didn't want to leave. Or, more specifically, he did not want to leave Mikasa.

"You could've just taken it down…" Armin muttered, glancing once more at the firmly covered mirror.  _So why didn't she? Why is this here?_  Armin did not know, or understand, and it was killing him.

"I know!" Eren gasped, his eyes glittering. "Let's go to Titan's Maw!"

"No way," Mikasa said. She sat for a moment, and Armin watched her gaze fall to Eren's back. He winced, and then stifled a giggle as Mikasa shoved him from her bed, and he toppled right onto the floor in a rather graceless heap.

"Ah!" he cried, rolling onto his side, kicking up his legs as he flailed. "Crap, I'm stuck!"

"You can't even handle a little fall like that," Mikasa told him curtly, peeking over the side of her bed. "And you think you can jump Titan's Maw? Don't be stupid, Eren."

"I could totally do it!" Eren cried indignantly.

"No, you—" Mikasa had trailed off, looking suddenly very distraught. The playfulness had left her delicate features, and her eyes had gone very wide. Armin understood why. He heard movement from below. The shuffling of feet against the metal staircase. Mikasa looked very pale all of a sudden, and her eyes flashed wildly around the room. "Closet."

Eren got himself upright, though his brown hair as in a little forest of tufts, wisps curling across his dark forehead. He glanced at Armin confusedly, and Armin glanced back just the same. They stared at each other, thinking the same thought, feeling the same feelings, and they leapt to their feet. Eren scrambled over Mikasa's bed, sliding onto the floor and flinging her closet door open. Armin hurried after him, throwing a worried glance at Mikasa, who was straightening up her room with her eyes glued on them, lines of worry creasing her brow. Armin was scared, and he didn't know why. Eren grabbed him by the hand and yanked him into the cramped little nook of a closet that held maybe three of Mikasa's four dresses.

The closet was bathed in darkness as he and Eren stood, their breaths hot and intermingling in the creeping silence. They could hear Mikasa moving outside the door, but they could not see her, and it was so hot, and Armin felt sweat prickling his neck and down his back, causing his shirt to stick to his warm skin. He felt dizzy, and a little sick.

"It's cold in here…" Eren muttered. He'd moved, and Armin thought he might've sat down, so Armin felt around in the darkness, bumping a hanger and cursing quietly to himself. He finally found Eren's soft hair, and he mumbled an apology as he sat on the ground beside him.

"Cold…?" Armin whispered, his fingers grasping at Eren's bicep and squeezing a little in fear of the darkness around him and of whatever was creeping up the stairs to scare  _Mikasa_ out of her wits. He felt hot and gross and sick, but Eren was complaining of cold, and that was so strange because only a minute before he'd been moaning about the heat. Eren could be a bit mercurial in truth, yes, but there was something off about this.

"Yeah…" Eren's breath was muggy against Armin's neck, and Armin closed his eyes and wished very hard for Mikasa to open the door and tell them that it had been nothing, but he knew it hadn't been, so he endured it, and held Eren tighter, and wondered how on earth such a tiny, humid place could be cold to anyone. He felt as though his skin was about to slough off his bones from baking so long in his sweat, like chicken left to stew in its own juices for hours on end.

Armin could feel Eren shivering.

"You really are cold," Armin gasped, his voice a squeaky whisper. He felt Eren nod against him, and then, suddenly, Armin felt it too. A burst of cool air. It felt so good, so refreshing and clear, and it was so nice to think again, because that meant he could maneuver his way out of this situation somehow. He reached behind him and felt along the darkened wall. It was all smooth. "Eren, feel the wall behind you."

"Uh, sure…" The footsteps were loud now. Whoever it was had come up the stairs. Why were they hiding? Armin was trying to figure it out, and it made his throat close up just to think about it. He was so scared. He felt along the floor, his tiny fingers brushing the corners, expecting to find dust bunnies and spider webs, but he felt nothing but roughened, unpainted sheetrock in a few places, and wood.

"There's a box here…" Eren said vacantly. There was a hissing sound of something gliding across the floor. "Ah, crap, it's actually heavy…"

The footsteps were outside the hall.

"Move it," Armin said fiercely. "Move it quickly."

Eren did it without complaint, and the sound was like a glass crashing inside Armin's head, it was so loud. Finally, Eren stopped, and the entire closet was brimming with cool air. Armin had fished for Eren's shirt, and then his hand, and the both knelt there for a moment confusedly, unsure of what they'd just discovered. Armin couldn't wrap his head around it.

"I think," Eren murmured, drawing himself and Armin over the box and toward the wall, "I think there's a hole here."

Armin felt it, and noted it was a small rectangular space, empty for some reason or another. Perhaps an air vent had once been here.

"It feels big enough that anyone with a small build," Armin whispered, braving himself to sticking his hand through the little smuggler's hole, "like the two of us, or even someone a little bigger could fit through here."

"Weird," Eren whispered.

Mikasa's door burst open.

"What the fuck are you doing up here, brat?"

Their breaths had caught. They'd hardly moved the box. Armin was leaning against it, and he was half inside the hole in the wall. He made his decision quickly. He tugged Eren's hand, and he allowed himself to navigate blindly into the darkened passage, through the hole and crouched in a cool little crawl space. His skin was crawling and his heart was beating so hard that he could feel it thudding in his throat.

"Nothing," Mikasa said.

"Nothing? Really? Like I didn't just hear that giant bang?"

"I don't really… know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying."

"You won't look me in the fuckin' eye. You're lying. Do you know what I do with liars?"

"Leave them alone to rot in the— in the street, and don't let them ever come back home?"

"Wow, so you do listen. That's a fucking shocker. So tell me the truth, where are your little friends?"

"Not here," Mikasa said firmly. "I told you. I haven't seen them at all today."

"No?"

"No."

"Then you won't  _mind_  if I look in the closet, do you?"

Armin's breath hitched. He and Eren were already crouched in the crawl space, but they hadn't been able to cover the hole up all the way with the box, so they moved themselves deeper into the crawlspace and listened as the closet door opened. Armin was crying into Eren's shirt, and Eren was holding his hand so tightly that the circulation had been cut off and the entirety of his hand was numb and tingly.

"Huh. Looks like you weren't lying after all, huh, bitch?"

"Get out of my room."

"Watch your tongue."

" _Please_ get out of my room."

"You smart mouth me again, you're getting your mouth washed out with soap. Got it?"

Mikasa didn't answer. She got it.

* * *

"Mikasa!" he repeated, unable to keep his enthusiasm to himself. He felt as though he'd been holding it in for months and months, and now everything in him was bursting and pouring out of him in great waves of emotions.

She looked up from her book, looking surprised. It was a difficult thing to surprise Mikasa, but he saw her eyes grow wide, and a smile prickle at her lips until suddenly she was grinning in awe and kicking herself off the wall. He dropped his bags and ran at her. She caught him in a tight hug, throwing her arms around his shoulders and squeezing him so tightly he thought he'd break under the sheer pressure, but he didn't care. He could spare a broken rib or two if it was for her.

"You're skinny," she immediately remarked, resting her chin on his shoulder. He was a little taller than her now, but it didn't really feel like it. She put her hand on his head and buried her face in his shoulder, and he inhaled the scent of her hair— sweat and oil and something vaguely flowery in spite of the grime. She was a bit disheveled, wearing simple a pair of old jeans and a stained white tee shirt. She'd come directly from work, it seemed.

"I'm broke," he responded, smiling into the fluffy black strands. Oh, he'd missed her so badly there was a furious aching inside his chest, and he wished with all his heart and all his soul that he'd never left her alone. He'd visited before, of course, for brief periods of time, but it never felt real or concrete, and Mikasa was odd and distant. Today felt real. Today felt like he was returning for real.

"That's fine," she told him, still holding him like he was the last thing on earth she could call her own. "I have food to spare, always, so you'll probably be okay."

"Probably," Armin repeated, smiling at her sheepishly. "Probably is good, I'm down with probably."

She pulled back a little if only to throw a glance at Jean, who had appeared at Armin's back. "Hello," she said. "You're Jean."

Jean did not reply, and so Armin kicked him. He cleared his throat hurriedly, and blurted, "Yeah, I think so!"

"Oh my god," Armin murmured.

Mikasa turned her attention back to Armin as though nothing had happened. "I'm thinking of dying my hair," she said, letting go of him only to allow him to get his bags. "What do you think?"

"What color?" he asked immediately. He could sense how utterly distraught Jean was, but he didn't care at all.

"I don't know yet," she said, taking his bags from him. "Red, maybe."

"That's a bit extreme," he laughed uneasily. He wouldn't stop her if that was what she wanted, but he didn't know what had brought on this decision, and it was likely someone had made a comment to her, which had bent her mind into one particular focus. "Maybe just dye the tips? Or the underside of it?"

"Maybe," she said. They started out of the station, and Armin noticed she was still gripping her book tightly, its spine bobbing against the handle of his suitcase. He caught the name in a flash of dull white letters.  _The Parables of Sina_.

That was strangely obscure, but the name sounded familiar to him. He wondered if he'd seen that book at the library before. He'd have to ask her at a later date.

"Holy shit," Jean whistled, his eyes enlarged to the point of disbelief as he stopped in the middle of a cramped little parking lot around the corner from the train station. "You have a Camaro. A— fuck, that's a Chevy ZL1, right? That's a really, really good racing car!"

Mikasa glanced at him. Armin felt the need to snicker into his hand, but he resisted the urge and instead smiled wanly. He must've forgotten to tell Jean about what Mikasa did for a living.

"I know," Mikasa said. She looked a little apprehensive as she popped the trunk, setting Armin's bags inside carefully. It was a little snug, but there was still room for Jean's bags it looked like. She then regarded Jean with a long, bemused stare. "You like racing?"

"Marco— my buddy from high school, Marco and I, we used to sneak out and go to these incredible drag races in between Trost and Shiganshina, that strip— ah, what's it called?"

"The Strip," Mikasa said amusedly, taking Jean's bags.

"Yeah, well, anyway the first race we ever went to we saw this Chevy Camaro rip up asphalt, so ever since then we just bet on the Camaro every time we went." Jean looked very pleased to tell this story, and he smiled at her enthusiastically as she closed the trunk. "We never lost our money, I'll tell you that."

"A car is only as good as its driver," she told him.

"Are you a good driver?" Jean asked eagerly.

She stared at him vacantly, and Armin cut between them, smiling his best smile in hopes that he might cut the tension. Mikasa had a bad habit of acting coldly to people she didn't know very well, and it often made her difficult to deal with at times. She didn't mean it, and she certainly didn't do it to be mean, but ever since they were little she'd always been detached and cold to people she wasn't sure about. In truth, it surprised Armin that Jean wasn't more offended by her chilly demeanor.

"Mikasa taught me and Eren how to drive," Armin blurted, hoping to ease the awkward silence. It worked. Mikasa nodded fondly, and opened the door to the driver's seat, climbing into the car without another word.

"So what was that like?" Jean asked, climbing into the back seat. "Teaching Armin, and stuff? Did he get it right off the bat? Probably did, he's fuckin' good at everything."

"Actually," Armin laughed nervously, glancing at Mikasa. She turned the keys in the ignition, and glanced at him. "I crashed Mikasa's old Camaro."

"You half totaled it," she said.

"I drove it into a ditch," Armin said, feeling a little ashamed.

"You had a Camaro before this one?" Jean asked in awe. "Damn, how do you rake in that much money?"

"It was old," she said, shrugging. "It barely worked."

"You weren't angry that he wrecked it?"

"Angry?" Mikasa sounded honestly confused. "Armin could have died. Bigger men than him have been killed from smaller accidents. He's lucky."

"I was actually fine," Armin said, glancing at Mikasa worriedly. "The door was busted, though, so Eren kinda like… ripped it off…"

"Wow."

It was quiet after that. Dreadfully quiet. He could hear his own heart thudding in his chest, and his mind was spilling over, sloshing up thoughts that he'd rather not hear.  _Mikasa doesn't want to hear about this. Mikasa isn't here to reminisce of silly things like that. What am I even doing? How am I supposed to ask her about what happened that night? What am I supposed to do?_

He was scared of speaking to his best friend in the entire world. He might as well give up before he began.

Ah. He couldn't have doubts now. If he had doubts, he'd never be able to complete his capstone, and that meant he wouldn't be able to graduate. He was no fool. He understood what he was risking by not putting his all into this investigation. No matter where it led him.

_Even if it means losing Mikasa?_

He couldn't imagine taking such a path. But he knew it was a plausible outcome, whether he was careful in how he proceeded or not. He couldn't account for Mikasa's temperament.

He didn't know if what he was doing was right, but something in him knew it was necessary. He felt as though he was being dragged by his ankles, flailing and screaming, into a great void. He could not feel what was around him, and he could not see a thing beyond a great yawning darkness, but he understood the unknown was approaching fast. And he was terrified, because he could not stop himself from moving forward.

Mikasa turned on the radio, and Armin listened to Stromae sing in rapid French, only picking up words that he understood here and there. When Armin asked Jean if he understood it, Jean simply shrugged and said he didn't care as long as it had a good beat.

Through the punctuated beat and the smooth French rapping, Armin could catch scraps of what Stromae was saying, and he nodded along to the beat.  _Ni l'un ni l'autre, je suis, j'_ _é_ _tais, et resterai moi_.

"Neither one nor the other," Armin translated, "I am, I was, and I'll remain myself."

"Shit," Jean whistled. "That's pretty deep for some French rap shit."

"The other stuff's about racism and homophobia I think," Armin admitted, scratching his head.

"Oh, brilliant," Jean muttered.

"I like this song," Mikasa said, turning up the volume. The bass was vibrating the entire car, but Armin didn't mind. He felt nostalgic, sitting there with the rumbling of steady rap in his ears, words flying that he could hardly understand but appreciated nonetheless. He'd been here before, a million times, only Eren had been in the back seat instead of Jean, and they'd been something like children then. Running away had felt easy.

He wondered. Was he trying to replace Eren with Jean? Had it already happened?

Armin only needed to spare Jean a glance to know it wasn't so. Eren had always made Armin feel loved. Jean kinda just made Armin feel like he needed to down a few drinks. And Armin wasn't particularly one for alcohol.

As they neared Shiganshina, Armin was filled with a terrible longing feeling, a sad sort of reminiscing that caught him off guard. He knew this place, knew this air, knew the very pebbles the wheels of Mikasa's car rolled across, and yet he felt like an outsider here, and he could not explain the crippling sadness of knowing he'd lost a home somewhere along the way of growing awkwardly and hurriedly.

Armin missed Eren so much. He missed the way Eren could barrel through hardships without fail, without hesitation, without even a thought. He missed the reassurance, the kind words and the firm smiles and the sharp nods. The little things that let Armin know that Eren was watching, and Eren cared. It had been difficult without him there to give Armin the boost in confidence, and Mikasa had tried her best, but even then she had so many problems of her own to face that Armin didn't want to burden her with his own selfish insecurities.

He noticed Jean was filming their entrance into Shiganshina, but this time he did not stop him. It was probably better if he caught this.

Armin began to notice little familiar landmarks, and every sign he passed, every distant blur of a park or a fence was a pang of bitterness that spread like poison through his heart. He wished he'd never grown up.

"Wow," Armin remarked as Mikasa pulled into the lot of a rather beaten up, but still sturdy-looking building. "It's still standing."

"Ha ha," she said flatly, parking the car. Jean had turned his head to peer up at the sign perched up above a black awning, white and streaked with stains from countless dribbling rainfalls.

"Ackerman Auto Repairs," Jean read aloud. He looked to Mikasa, utterly bewildered. "You fix cars?"

"Yes," she said, yanking the keys from the ignition and exiting the car.

"You didn't tell me she's a mechanic," Jean told Armin accusingly.

"It didn't exactly seem important, Jean," Armin sighed. "I didn't know you liked cars so much, either."

"It's a guilty pleasure."

"They're just cars, Jean."

"That's why it's guilty, dickhead."

Armin opened his door and got out before he had to hear anymore of Jean's… Jean-ness. Usually he'd be more understanding, and try patience with Jean, but he was too emotionally drained for that bullshit right now, and thoughts of Eren were making him sick.

Mikasa lived in an apartment above the shop, and had been doing so for nearly twelve years. Armin couldn't even remember where she'd lived before that, if he'd even known her then. It was all a fabulous blur, and he was sick of blurry memories as of late. He wanted to know everything, but his memories were unreliable at best.

He needed something more concrete than memories and words if he was going to find Eren.

They trekked up the long, narrow metal staircase that connected the lot to the door of Mikasa's apartment, and she stuck her key into the lock before pausing. She frowned.

"What?" Jean asked confusedly. Armin already knew, and he felt fear prickle inside his stomach, his eyes darting around worriedly. They were all standing huddled on a rickety metal platform, and a little shoved could do them all in instantly. He had these thoughts often enough, when he was anxious but right now he felt as thought death had caught him by the throat and was squeezing.

"It's unlocked," she said, yanking her key out and opening her door. As though it were nothing.

Mikasa cut Jean off very sharply with her arm and forcing him back outside. She gave them both dark looks, and disappeared into the house.

Armin didn't like the idea of waiting outside while Mikasa dealt with whatever horrors laid ahead of them inside the apartment, but he was too terrified to move, and he all he could see in front of him was Eren's beaming face in the shadowy autumn night, a request that had left Armin freezing in his place, and waking up with regrets the size of mountains.

 _No_ , he thought, numbness taking over him as he stepped into the house.  _No, not again. I won't. I won't lose anyone else_.

He took off, slipping into the apartment without a word and ignoring Jean when he objected. The sun was low in the sky, and there were shadows skittering all amongst the musty smelling living room. Armin stood, feeling as though the world was tipping, and everything was tipping with it, all except him. He, who stayed upright while the entire world flipped and crashed and burned.

It occurred to him whose apartment this was.

He walked around the length of a stained coffee table, his fingers running over an old cylindrical mark from when Eren had left an iced coffee on it without a coaster. Mikasa hadn't been angry, of course, but Eren had felt guilty about it and promised to fix it somehow. He'd never gotten the chance.

Armin's fingers slid beneath the table, and landed on something cold and metal. He withdrew his hand, sticking it in his pocket and feeling… empty. The knowledge that Mikasa had a gun did not worry him in the slightest. He could not blame her. What was bothering him was that she did not have the gun with her now.

"This is nice," Jean observed.

"Shh," Armin pressed his finger to his lips. He heard footsteps.

Mikasa appeared in the room, and she paused, glancing at Jean and Armin as they stood innocently in the middle of the living room. "I thought I told you to stay outside," she said.

"You didn't  _say_  anything, actually…" Jean muttered, scratching the back of his head.

Armin was suddenly hit by the scent of something sweet wafting toward him. It was the heavy hanging wafting smell of something baking, like a cake or something equally as tantalizing. Armin glanced at Mikasa, who merely shook her head. The trouble here was that there was something about this entire situation that made him anxious, but he could not put his finger on it. Was it simply paranoia?

Jean sniffed loudly, lifting his head and looking suddenly very alert. "I smell food," he said.

"Yes," Mikasa sighed, "that'd be—"

"ARMIN!"

He was caught off guard by a pair of slender arms catching him around the waist and squeezing him like a limp little doll. He recognized the voice, a lighthearted whistle of a tone with laughter tinged in words, words always coming in an easy jumble. Sasha Braus was a good friend, and she'd often made him laugh in the most bleak of times. She was a nice person to have around in a crisis.

"Hi, Sasha," Armin gasped, wincing a little as his ribs constricted under her grip. "I didn't expect you to be here…"

"Neither did I," Mikasa said darkly.

"Aw, come on, we knew you were coming," Sasha laughed, nuzzling Armin's hair. He didn't know why she was being so affectionate, but he didn't think he minded. He was uncomfortable with being touched by strangers and acquaintances, but Sasha had been a long time friend, and he knew it had been far too long since he'd last seen or even gotten in touch with her. "You got really tall! You're taller than me now, that's so weird!"

"Is it?" Armin didn't think it was extraordinarily strange that he'd gotten taller, though he'd stopped growing and was still rather short. He was only maybe an inch or two taller than Sasha. "I can't help growing, Sasha."

"You're super skinny still, though," Sasha observed, pulling back and squeezing his ribs once more. "You don't eat much, do you?"

"They know you really well, don't they, Armin?" Jean asked, sounding amused. Armin had the grace to laugh, though he didn't appreciate being lectured on his eating habits.

"Your lock picking skills are still prime, I see," he observed, glancing at Mikasa's still open front door. "Once a hoodlum, always a hoodlum."

"Nah," Sasha laughed, shoving her hands into the pockets of her letterman jacket, which Armin knew belonged to Connie. "Not me, not ever! Besides, you always did way more illegal stuff than me."

Armin couldn't deny that. He saw Jean's eyebrows shoot up, and he wanted to laugh at how clearly Jean had misjudged Armin's capacity for rule breaking, but he didn't. Instead he asked about Connie.

"Oh, he's in the kitchen," Sasha said. She waved offhandedly, and the smell of cake got stronger, the sweetness becoming startling and warm. Vanilla stung his nose, and he could feel it burning at the back of his throat as his mouth watered. He was usually not one for sweets, but this was kinda a special occasion right? And he was awfully hungry from the trip. "He'd probably be done by now, but I ate his first cake."

"Cake?" Jean eyed her suspiciously. "You ate an entire cake?"

"He didn't feed me this morning, I was desperate." Sasha shrugged, and she tossed herself into one of Mikasa's old leather sofas, sinking deeply into the worn brown seat. "Ah, man, I kinda miss living here…"

"You hated living here." Mikasa seemed to be reminding Sasha, but Armin had no idea that Sasha had lived with Mikasa at all. That went to show how strangled their communication was as of late.

"Yeah, for good reason," Sasha muttered. "But I mean, aside from the spooky creaky noises and the bad vibes, I kinda miss this old place."

"Spooky?" Jean snorted. "How the fuck is this place spooky?"

Sasha stared at him, her brown eyes large and distant, and Armin glanced between her and Jean. He could tell that Sasha was weighing her options with Jean, possibly considering just ignoring him, but she didn't. She raised her chin high, gestured around the room with a grand sweep of her arm.

"This place," she said, "is most definitely cursed."

"Cursed." Jean was on the verge of laughter, his eyes squinted and his lips quirked into a smirk. "Wow. Right, okay." He had his camera in hand, Armin noticed, and he realized it was likely recording.

"I'm serious," Sasha said darkly, her eyes darting furiously at Jean's face. "Mikasa thinks so too! Tell him Mikasa!"

Armin's dear friend merely looked bored as she dragged Armin's bags into the room, shutting the front door behind her. She shrugged meagerly.

"It's cursed," she said simply.

"Whoa, whoa, back up." Jean set his camera down on the coffee table, angling it subtly so it faced all of them. "Explain."

Mikasa sighed, and she glanced down the hall and tipped herself back so she could see through it and into the kitchen. Then she focused on them again.

"It's just a superstition," she said. "But my grandfather killed himself downstairs in the shop, and my great grandfather supposedly was pushed down the stairs by my grandfather. But I don't really know if either of those things are true, or if they're just stories meant to scare little children."

"I swear I've got a bad vibe from this place," Sasha said firmly. "I swear it. Especially Mikasa's room."

"Thanks," she said dully, rolling her eyes. "Thanks a lot."

"It feels like something crawled into the walls and is living in there."

"Now you're trying to give me nightmares," Mikasa sighed, closing her eyes. "It's really not that bad, but the apartment is old so there are a lot of eerie noises you'd expect to hear from an old place like this. Creaky floorboards, squeaky faucets, rusty pipes, settling walls. I've been trying to save money to get it fixed up."

"Start with your room," Sasha suggested. "It needs the most work."

Mikasa merely sighed again, looking actually irritated. Then she looked suddenly very alarmed, and she glanced at Sasha with widening eyes. "Wait," she said vacantly, turning around and tilting her head. "How'd you guys get past The Captain?"

"The what?" Jean asked flatly.

"Uh…" Sasha sunk further into her seat, and she kicked her feet up. "He was sleeping… when we came in…"

A shrill shriek came drifting into the room, riding on the waves of the sweet scent of a baking cake.

"Well," Mikasa said, "he's not sleeping anymore."

They all glanced at each other, and with that they bolted into the hall, and through the hall they reached Mikasa's small kitchen. The tiles were uneven, black and white and yellowed with age, and there were ugly wooden paneled walls that Mikasa had sworn and sworn again she'd rip out one day. The smell of cake was intoxicating, and the overwhelming heat of the room dazed Armin and so he hardly noticed Connie crouched on Mikasa's table, looking rather miserable as a Chihuahua hopped up on its hind legs and barked at him furiously.

"I hate your dog," Connie told Mikasa flatly, his dark face pinched in irritation. Mikasa merely whistled.

"Captain," she called. The dog halted his attack, and cocked his head back at Mikasa, his ears flattening. It trotted to Mikasa's side obediently, and Connie sighed in relief. "Good Captain."

"The Captain is a pretty terrible guard dog," Armin observed, kneeling to rub the tiny dog's head. The Captain was pretty amiable, in spite of his treatment of Connie, so long as Mikasa was around. He let Armin scratch behind his ears, his big brown eyes drooping closed in blatant pleasure. Armin smiled at him as he crawled into his lap, nuzzling his palm.

"Sure!" Connie cried, jumping down from the table. "Sure, he likes you! Where the fuck has that dog even been for the past few hours?"

"He's a heavy sleeper," Mikasa said. "He's old, you know."

As Armin understood it, Mikasa had adopted The Captain from a shelter a few years before, but he'd been old even  _then_. Half his right ear was torn away, and he was blind in one eye, most likely, but he still had the strength to bark like a fucking German Shepherd if it came down to it.

"Yeah, well," Connie sniffed, "if he's not careful, I'm gonna make a hot dog outta him."

"Good luck with that."

"So you're… Connie?" Jean tilted his head. "Yeah, I've seen pictures of you, I think."

"Yeah, you're Jean, hi." Connie waved, and he wandered over to the oven, opening it up and peeking in. "Do you like whiskey cake?"

"I've never tried it, but it sounds baller," Jean admitted, his eyebrows rising. He shot a glance at Armin, who merely shrugged. The last time Armin had seen Connie he'd been going for a business degree, and before that it'd been linguistics, and before that human anatomy, and before that… graphic design? Possibly.

"Good, because I had to actually slave over this thing," Connie said, scowling at Sasha. "Thanks to  _someone_. Who shall not be named. Because I'm just nice like that."

"You aren't nice at all." Sasha pouted.

Connie pulled a pan out of the over one-handedly with a towel, and he tossed it onto a hot pad that rested on the old granite countertop. He kicked the oven closed, and whirled to face Armin. Then he smiled, and Armin smiled back, and they high fived once before hugging. Armin wasn't incredibly affectionate, not really, but Connie was someone Armin had not seen in a very long time, and they'd once been close.

"How's the outside world been treating you?" Connie asked eagerly.

"Pretty well," Armin said, though he didn't know if he was being truthful. "You guys should try it."

"If we could afford it," Sasha snickered.

"That's a good point," Armin admitted. "I'll probably be here for a little while for the same reason, though."

"Aha," Connie scoffed, dragging out a chair and plopping down. "Hypocrite."

"But, yeah, I'm doing fine," he said. This one might've been a lie too. "How are you guys?"

"Meh." Connie waved his hand in mid-air, designating casual so-so. Sasha just smiled, and shrugged.

"I'm great," she beamed. "Connie takes cooking classes, and it's the best thing ever because now he's constantly cooking, and you know what that means?"

"Food?" Jean asked blandly.

"YES!" Sasha punched the air. "Finally those years and years of friendship have proved to be constructive."

"I hate you a lot," Connie groaned. "No cake for you!"

"I'm just teasing," Sasha laughed, glancing at him. Connie glanced back, and he groaned some more. "Mostly."

"Do you guys want some beers?" Mikasa asked suddenly.

"Yes," Jean said immediately. "Fucking yes."

"Sure," Connie said.

"Yeah!"

Armin stood, feeling awkward and a little ashamed that he didn't really like alcohol. "Uh, okay," he said very quietly, shoving his hands into his pocket. Mikasa shot him a glance as she walked to the fridge. When she turned again, she tossed three bottles of beer on the table, and two bottles of coke. Armin was overwhelmed with affection for her in that moment, and he might've thanked her if there weren't so many people around, so instead he smiled at her gratefully, and uncapped the coke bottle.

They ended up sitting in a circle on the kitchen floor eating whiskey cake, which was actually very good and very sweet, though the alcohol had an almost overwhelming presence at the moist, spongy center. They ended up playing a friendly game of Never Have I Ever.

"Never have I ever smoked a cigarette," Sasha chirped. Jean groaned and grabbed the bottle of sangria from the center of their little circle and took a nice long gulp.

"Fuck," he mumbled, wiping his lips and passing the bottle to Mikasa. "I'm down to three."

"Two," Mikasa said, taking a swig from the bottle. She glanced at Armin, who reluctantly took it, and took a sip. It was a sweet taste, and it ran warm like blood down his throat, and he didn't like it at all. He set the bottle back down at the circle, and Connie did not object.

He remembered one late spring afternoon Mikasa had come to them with a pack of cigarettes, and she'd declared that she was going to smoke all of them. Armin had advised against it, but when he'd realized her reasoning he understood. He still thought it was a terrible idea, and told her to just throw them in the river, but she was adamant. So the three of them had smoked the pack, and felt very sick afterwards. But they'd done it together.

Armin didn't really smoke, and Eren hadn't much either, but he knew Mikasa had a nasty habit of doing it if she had a chance. She was good at control, however.

"My turn, huh?" Jean looked miserable. "I don't even know. Never have I ever given a blow job."

"Nice," Armin said. "I don't believe it."

Jean threw a plastic fork at him, and it went sailing over his head.

Everyone sat silently.

"Wow," Connie said. "We're prudes."

"Never have I ever  _received_  a blow job," Mikasa said.

"God damn it." Jean grabbed the bottle and tipped it back, holding up two fingers as he gulped down another swig.

"Never have I ever…" Armin sat, feeling silly and unfit for this game. He felt their eyes on him, felt the heat of their stares as they wormed their way into his thoughts and fed on his soul, and he was scared to think too loudly in the gnawing paranoia that they might somehow hear his burning self-hatred. "Jumped into Titan's Maw. From the cliffs, at least."

Jean glanced around, face flushed from the heat of the wine. Sasha and Connie glanced at each other, and they shrugged.

Mikasa tentatively reached for the bottle, saying nothing. She grasped it and held it for just a moment, looking a little dazed. And then she threw it back, taking a very long gulp.

"Shit," Jean muttered. Sasha and Connie merely looked confused as Mikasa set the bottle back down.

"One," she said dully. "I'm going to lose."

"Or win," Connie offered. "Depending how you look at it."

"When did you jump into Titan's Maw?" Armin asked her, feeling eager but sick. She shrugged.

"I don't know," she said. "A few years ago. I guess. Connie?"

"Never have I ever had a one night stand."

Everyone's eyes trailed to Jean. This time, however, he merely shrugged.

"Nope," he said. "Surprise, I'm not that slutty."

"You're not even a little slutty," Armin said. "You're mostly a virgin."

Jean's cheeks flushed, and he opened his mouth. Then he closed it. "Don't go spreading that shit around," he squeaked.

"Don't go telling people the truth, you mean?" Armin offered.

"God damn it, man!"

"I wanna know what the mostly is all about." Connie grinned.

"Oh," Armin said, smiling a bit. "Well—"

"No," Jean said, sounding a little desperate and a little drunk. "No, no, no, no, no, no."

Armin felt guilty, so he glanced at Connie, and he smiled and shrugged. "I actually don't know the details," he lied. "I heard them from Marco." Another lie. Armin hardly spoke to Marco, even when he visited Jean. But the others bought it, knowing Marco from the various stories Jean had told over the course of the night.

"Okay, never have I ever…!"

It went on like that.

By the time Sasha and Connie left it was very late, and the sky was inky and black, and Armin was slightly buzzed so he wasn't in any particular mood at all. Alcohol affected him strangely, never quite altering his personality so much as it wiped it away all together. When Armin drank, he felt like he'd just had a lobotomy. He didn't like the person he became, because that person was very blunt and dull and brutally analytical. As Armin understood it, it was difficult to hold back all the things he wanted to spill when he was under the influence of some substance, so he just spouted things while hardly feeling more than brief twinges of wariness.

He really did not like alcohol.

"You were with Eren that night," Armin informed Mikasa curtly as she gathered all the glass bottles at the side of her sink. Jean had passed out on the couch about an hour before, and the kitchen was hot and dark now, shadows dancing across the mismatched tile and Mikasa's pretty face. She looked at him, and her eyes were smudges in the yellow light.

"I was," she admitted, picking up the emptied bottle of sangria by its neck.

A chilly silence spread out between them. Armin felt like he should be surprised, but he felt very little, and he was very tired. He watched her, wondering if he'd known all along and had just been pretending and lying to himself to keep the resentment from crawling through him like a weed out to choke the life from him.

"You never said anything," he said. "You wanted to, I think, but you didn't. Why is that, Mikasa?"

She stood, empty bottle in hand, and Armin understood that she was just as sad and lonely as he was.

"I was scared," she whispered.

He wanted to doubt that, because this was Mikasa he was talking to, but because it was Mikasa he understood that there were certain things he often forgot when it came to her. Like, for instance, that she was just as human as he was. She got scared too.

"Of what?" he urged her. "Of me? Of telling me? Or of what happened?"

She turned her eyes to him, and in the dimness he saw them flash with remorse.

"I don't know what happened, Armin," she said, her voice thick. She wasn't drunk, he didn't think, but she was clearly tipsy and a little more distraught than he'd been expecting. "That night was a blur. I try not to remember."

"So you're telling me you repress your memories," he clarified. She blinked at him dazedly.

"Maybe," she said, setting the wine bottle aside and bowing her head. "I don't really know. I'm sorry, I… I know it doesn't help you, or— or Eren. But I can't really say what exactly happened."

"Tell me, at the very least," Armin whispered, "what Eren wanted to show us."

Mikasa stared at him, and when he looked into her eyes he saw two sad, inky blots sinking into her skull. She looked tired, and he expected that she was more exhausted than him considering her job. He wanted to leave her alone, but he was just so curious, and all his emotions seemed to have shut off.

"I never got the chance to find out," she said quietly. She turned away from him, facing the sink and turning on the faucet. "I'm sorry, Armin."

"No," he said. "It's fine. I'm sorry for bothering you about it."

"You could never bother me."

He wanted to object, but he didn't feel up to arguing, and it simply didn't feel right. There was a squirming emptiness here, in the room, and he felt it burn him and brand him, marking him up and leaving him lost. There was a hollow space here between them. Eren's presence made everything seem clearer, and his absence made the world thick and stifling and gauzy beyond belief.

"I think I'm going to go to bed now," he told her, turning his back to her. She nodded, not looking up as she began to scrub at the dishes, the sound of rushing water thudding in his ears. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she said. "Your bedroom is right next to mine. If you can't find it, then shout for me."

"I think I know it."

He didn't know why she'd lie to him, and worst of all he couldn't tell if she was lying. He felt sick, which was not very good, and tired which was also not very good, because he had so much work to do and not much time to do it. He had an entire investigation to get through, and Mikasa's testimony was just about useless. Meaning Armin was going to need to snoop around until he found proof that she wasn't lying. Or maybe that she was. He hoped so very badly she wasn't lying to him, but he couldn't tell. She was difficult to read, even for him.

He trudged to Mikasa's room, dragging his suitcase along with him, and he felt a sense of déjà vu as the yellow hallway tilted and the walls seemed to lean in toward him hopelessly, seeming to be drunker than him. He felt a bit disoriented, and he nearly called for Mikasa, but it occurred to him that he'd bothered her enough for one night. He shouldered the door he was almost positive was his open, flicking on a light and feeling nauseous as he tossed his bags onto the ground.

The room was more spacious than Mikasa's, which struck him as odd. It looked to be almost as though this room was a main bedroom, for it actually fit a queen sized bed as well of a comfortable amount of furniture. It was empty and sad looking, recently cleaned and still smelling of bleach and Kleenex. On the off-white walls there were little tacks of tiny, colorful feathers, which Armin thought was odd. As he examined them more closely, he realized they were fishing hooks. There were three of them, each a different color, each designed a little differently, each unique and odd and out of place in this room. He touched one tentatively, the green tackle a little misshapen and bizarre.

There was also a rather large painting on the wall that he glanced at, and felt an immense amount of anxiety.

The paint was old, faded strokes of pale paint darting the center, a splash of white and gray and pink, greens smudged into the background and browns into the foreground, flesh and grass and ropes. The faces were vague little blotches of color dotting the canvas, and the expressions were nonexistent. The knife was there, the angel, the stars marring the sky with more stinging clarity than the entirety of the painting combined.

For some odd reason, there was a painting of the biblical binding of Isaac in his room.

Weird.

Armin dismissed it at first, flopping onto his bed and groaning. He wished he could forget about the entire investigation, but he just… could not abandon Eren. Not again.

He closed his door and began to undress, but his eyes kept falling back to that painting, and the knife, and the blotted out faces, and paranoia crept up on him. He found himself turning from the painting so his back faced it, and he changed into a loose tee shirt and shorts, tying his hair up in a messy bun before collapsing on his bed again and falling asleep.

He woke up in the middle of the night, another familiar swoop of anxiety coming over him. He ignored it, curling up in his blankets as a chill took over, slipping over him and caressing his bare skin. Normally Armin had trouble sleeping, but it helped that he'd been on a train for a significant amount of the day, and then gotten slightly drunk. He quickly fell asleep again.

When he woke up the next morning from a dreamless sleep, his head was pounding and he felt sick again. He noted the shimmer of daylight streaming in through his window.

Then, curiously, he noted the two hooks on the wall.


	3. Chapter 3

**what was whispered in his ear**

The rocks were slimy and mossy beneath his toes, and as the water coagulated at his ankles he felt himself sway pitifully, wobbling against the rush and finally succumbing to gravity, his heel scraping against a particularly slick gray rock, and he shrieked as he felt his stomach lurch into his throat, his body plummeting backwards into the river's steady current.

He was caught around the waist, his toe stubbing painfully against a jutting rock as his descent was halted suddenly. He realized he was not breathing, and he inhaled sharply, the spray and the mist of the guttering water hitting his face. The hem of his jeans, which he'd rolled up to his knees, were damp and clinging to his upper calves. He was leaning heavily against Eren's chest for support, and he felt foolish and inadequate.

"You okay?" Eren had asked him, hefting him upright. Mikasa was at their sides in a flash, her skirt hiked up to her upper thigh and her legs gleaming in the sunlight. She grasped Armin's arm, staring at him intensely, and he could sense the worry there. He flushed in shame and embarrassment, wishing they'd just let him fall in.

"I lost my shoes," he'd mumbled, staring at his white toes beneath the trickling stream. They'd stuck to the shallows of the river, to the places were rocks were abundant and the current was slow. It hadn't stopped the water from sweeping away his sneakers though.

"I see them," Mikasa had said. She left them then, gliding effortlessly across the slippery rocks and over spindly little twigs of bushes that had grown alongside the riverbank.

Of course Armin hadn't wanted to bother either of them with something so trivial as lost shoes, but he didn't know how he'd proceed without them. He should've just left them along the bank, or put them in someone's bag instead of carrying them around. He sighed, and he struggled along further into the stream, feeling unsteady on his feet. Eren followed behind him at a slow pace, carefully watching his own steps as well as Armin's.

"Hey!"

Armin looked up from his feet and the squishy soil between his toes, squinting into the mist of the stream as a large boy waved them over into the deeper, steeper part of the river just a few yards away. On both sides of them the banks of the river became two craggy walls that narrowed with every step. Armin climbed up onto a large gray rock, and he sat down there, not feeling confident enough to go farther.

Eren stopped beside the rock, glancing at Armin worriedly before Armin gave him a thumbs up. He leaned against the rock, jerking his chin at Reiner, and turning his attention back toward Mikasa.

"You're not having fun," Eren observed.

"I'm having a lot of fun," Armin had objected, surprised. "I just didn't dress appropriately. At all."

"Yeah, sorry," Eren said sheepishly. "I didn't realize we were coming here until like, half an hour ago."

"It's fine," Armin said. "I've just never actually been this far out into the river before."

"It's not so bad," Mikasa said, appearing behind them and resting Armin's drenched sneakers on the rock beside him. "We're not even at the Maw yet, are we?"

"Nah," Eren said. His hair was damp with sweat, and it curled across his forehead in neat little wisps. He seemed to consider Mikasa's words, and he lifted his chin high. "Not that we really need to go to the Maw. There are little hollows here and there, y'know, deep enough to swim in."

"That's true," Mikasa said. Armin stared vacantly ahead of him as Reiner waved his arms at them. He understood what his friends were doing. They were making excuses so they could hang back with him. How typical of them.

He was too scared of falling to move, though.

How typical of him.

"Let's go," Armin said, though he made no move to get up. So Eren offered his arm. Armin glanced at him, and though he felt a bit inadequate, he grasped it.

"Shit!" Reiner cried as they approached him. "You guys are so slow, I think I grew a beard from standing here so long!"

"Your hair's too blond, Reiner," Mikasa said vacantly as they passed by him.

He stood in the midst of the splashing water, his hands on his hips and his expression wilting. "Hey," he said, rubbing his square jaw, and shooting her a sharp look. "I could still grow a beard, you know!"

"Sure."

"I could!"

"Don't do that," Eren said, helping Armin over a particularly slippery rock. "You'd look silly."

"Wow, you guys really love to boost my confidence."

Eren decidedly had ignored him. "What time do you need to be home, Mikasa?"

"I think I'm okay until about eight," she said. They'd come to a very narrow pass amongst the rocks and the crags and the underbrush, and Reiner waved them through it, squeezing his bulky body through the space with great ease.

"Okay," Eren said, "what time are you sneaking out after that?"

Armin had seen the corners of her lips quirk, though he was certain no one else would be able pick out such an insignificant change in her features. He was glad to be able to have this knowledge of his friend, to understand the inner workings of her mind while everyone else floundered to grasp Mikasa's personality.

"Ten," she said. She turned to both of them, her eyes twinkling. "I'll pick you two up."

"Awesome," Armin had said, genuinely thrilled. The illegality of the driving and the street races never bothered him so much as the idea of Mikasa risking her neck by sneaking out. But she always seemed to know how to get away, and it'd been awhile since anything extreme had happened.

Mikasa then disappeared through the gap in the crags, leaving Eren to nudge Armin lightly. He followed silently, holding onto the wet rock and pushing himself over the bumps and the pits and the splashing, spitting rush of water that crawled up to his knees depending on where he stepped. He felt a little dizzy and breathless, but Eren was just behind him, and holding his back as he moved through the darkened pass, gripping the rough walls and blinking through the mist.

He took a deep breath as he was delivered safely to the other side of the passage, right into the grips of an icy cascade of water. He didn't scream, for he'd seen the curtain of the waterfall from the darkened pass, but it shook him hard, and he nearly fell right into the great glimmering green depths of the pool that had formed from the secluded, rocky terrain around them.

"Holy shit!" Eren cried, bumping right into Armin as he ducked through the waterfall. Armin was drenched, and his white button down shirt was sticking to his scrawny chest. The air was very warm, but he'd decided to wear a plain oxford shirt that day, rolling up the sleeves as he tended to do when it was too warm. He stood in the frothy pool, a waterfall beating at his back, and a boy clinging to his shoulders, and he'd felt oddly refreshed. Awakened, even, as though from a trance.

This was Titan's Maw.

It was beautiful, of course, and rather peaceful.

It was hard to imagine this place could be so dangerous.

Connie and Sasha were already swimming, splashing around in the glittery green water and laughing hysterically as they tried to push each other under. Reiner was jumping some rocks to get to Bertholdt, who was sitting on a boulder, wearing a mild expression. Armin had heard from Connie that Bertholdt couldn't swim, but he wasn't sure if he believed that.

Armin saw Mikasa standing on another dry rock, which had a pile of slightly damp clothing on it. He wandered over to her, careful not to slip again, and he rested his useless shoes on top of what he assumed was Connie's old track sweatshirt. He watched as Mikasa began to strip, swiping off her shirt in one movement, and tugging off her skirt, until she was standing in nothing but her bra and underwear. He wasn't sure what to do, because he had a crippling shyness when it came to revealing his body— something neither of his friends shared, to be certain. Eren was ripping off his shirt faster than Armin could blink.

Hesitantly, Armin began to unbutton his shirt, flushing from his discomfort and embarrassment. Mikasa's eyes were roving between both of them curiously, and Eren merely looked excited to finally be doing something. He was standing in nothing but his boxers, his dark skin a bit mismatched from unfortunate midsummer tan lines and pale scars. Mikasa was no different, though her tan was more of an actual tan and less like Eren's skin tone going from brown to  _really_  brown, and her scars were more prominent and more frightening. Armin didn't want to stare, but it was difficult for his eyes to not land on the long, jagged mark that traced her abs, or the angry burn near her pelvis, or the faded traces of white lines dragging across the dip of her spine and beneath the white cotton of her bra.

"Is something wrong, Armin?" Mikasa asked, looking so very concerned, and it made his stomach squirm a little. He smiled at her wanly, and he shook his head, peeling his shirt from his sticky skin and folding it up as neatly as he could manage with the thin, wet cloth. Eren was watching Armin now as well, observing his careful movements without really expressing what he was thinking, merely giving it a long, absent look.

"Guys," Eren said, tilting his head back toward the sun. "It's  _hot_."

"Yes, Eren, fabulous observation." Mikasa's eyes were still solely on Armin. "Great job."

"I'm gonna push you in," he threatened her, though there was an airiness to his voice that had made Armin giggle as he struggled with his wet jeans.

"That's fine," Mikasa said. "Do you need help, Armin?"

He shook his head furiously, utterly mortified at the idea of Mikasa needing to help him out of his trousers. Like that wasn't awkward, or anything. Eren seemed to be ignoring Armin's struggle for that very reason, which he was thankful for.

Finally he got his jeans around his ankles, and he kicked them off into the water, dreading the moment when he'd need to put them back on. He probably would've been better off swimming in them. So he picked them up out of the water and laid them out on the rock to dry, feeling naked and anxious in spite of the fact that he was wearing dark boxers, and he was far from being actually nude. There was just the gnawing crawl of vulnerability that was clearly absent in his friends, and he wished for their courage and their self-assurance, for the confidence he sorely lacked, and for the simple way they took the world and its trials in a stride.

"Okay!" Eren cried, clapping both of them on the back. Armin smiled at him while Mikasa looked around them, sweat causing her hair to stick to her neck. "Do you guys wanna find a place to jump?"

"Not on your life," Armin said, feeling bold but firm on this point. He couldn't imagine jumping into such a rocky pool, which went from shallow to cavernous in a mere step.

Eren merely snorted. "Fine," he said. "Mikasa?"

"Let's not," she said, wading into the water where it was still shallow and clear, rocks of all shapes and sizes gleaming under her feet. Then, without warning, she disappeared. Her head was swallowed up by a small, spitting flume.

"Wow," Eren said, frowning. It was more like a pout than anything else. "That was fuckin' nice."

Armin smiled at him wider, and he decided to laugh at his expression in order to make it more prominent. He debated on grabbing Eren's hand and yanking him into the depths of the pool with him, but he was too reluctant to force Eren to step on the more slippery rocks beneath them. So instead Armin stepped off the shallow rocks and let himself get devoured by a sucking vacuum of water.

When his head bobbed at the surface, he was in the middle of the pool and kicking furiously to stay upright. Water stung his eyes, cold like the splash of the waterfall, but less like getting knifed in the face several times, which was nice. He took a deep breath, and a cicada began to wail somewhere nearby.

He spotted two heads of damp blonde hair, and he decided to go to them, leaving Eren to call something to Reiner, and Reiner to call something back, leaving the both of them to their odd, outspoken antics.

"Hi, Armin," Christa said to him as he swam closer to her. She was sitting on a rock with her legs dipped in the water, her shorts high-waisted. She looked as though she'd been swimming, but had decided to get dressed again. "I haven't seen you in awhile. How are you?"

"I'm good," Armin said, though he didn't understand what she meant, because they'd seen each other only maybe a week before at some charity event. It was a well known secret that Christa's name was Historia Reiss, and she was the illegitimate daughter of the prime minister, but she didn't want anyone to know, so no one said anything.

Or, maybe it  _wasn't_  a well known secret. It was hard for Armin to tell, honestly.

Beside Historia was Annie Leonhardt, whose hair was wet, and whose face was somber, and who wore an oversized purple tee shirt as she glowered into the greenish gorge. Annie was someone Armin actually had not seen all that summer, and he'd been surprisingly excited to see her severe face.

"Hello, Annie," he said, resting his arms against the rock she was sitting on. She glanced at him, and she nodded curtly.

Armin might've been a little disheartened if it were anyone else, but with Annie, little genial glances and gentle acknowledgements were incredibly rare, and he appreciated them for all they were worth.

"You fell too," Armin observed. She looked at him sharply, and he could tell that she was surprised by his assessment. He'd found himself flushing again, smiling wanly and trying to fix her attitude as quickly as he could. "I just mean, you don't look happy that you're all wet."

"I fell," she admitted, turning her eyes from his face. "And then Reiner threw me in."

"And he's still breathing?" Armin asked, unable to keep the genuine awe from his voice. He glanced at Reiner, who was now in the water and chatting amiably with Eren and Mikasa. He suddenly very badly wanted to go up to them, and to listen to what they were saying, but he refrained from that type of behavior, which made him feel clingy, as though he'd make them hate him at any given moment.

"Unfortunately," Annie said darkly.

"You know if he sinks to the bottom, they probably won't find him," Historia mused aloud. Armin glanced at her, and then glanced at the water. Annie seemed to consider this as Historia flushed, and tried to laugh off her morbid thoughts as a joke. Both Annie and Armin knew better, and luckily for her, they didn't care.

"That's a nice thought," Annie said. "But I can't think of anything heavy enough to weigh him down."

"Reiner!" Armin called, tilting his head back.

"Yeah?"

"How much do you weigh?"

"That's rude to ask!"

"Sorry!" Armin's voice had cracked in dismay. "But I'm really curious!"

"Well!" Reiner boomed. "If you really wanna know, I'm ninety five kilos!"

"Wow," Historia whispered, looking a little astounded. "That's a lot."

"Maybe compared to you," Annie said. Historia glanced at her, and then at Armin.

"I think it's a lot too," he offered.

"The both of you," Annie said. Armin was thankful she didn't breach the topic of his weight further than that.

From above, a sharp whistle rung inside their ears and pierced the heated air like a siren. Armin craned his neck to see above the jutting, pitted rock and the crags that stood like mountains around the small cavernous pool. Armin could not see the top, but he did see a small platform of rock a long way up, weathered out smooth in comparison to the rest of the sharp palisades.

"Yo!" Ymir cried, her fists on her hips and her face obscured by distance. Armin noticed she was fully clothed, which was unsurprising for Ymir, but he couldn't imagine how she felt in this heat, or how she was about to feel upon leaping from that rock.

"Oh boy," Historia muttered. She swished her feet around in the water, looking a little nervous and a little annoyed.

"You going to stop her?" Annie asked dully.

Historia shook her head, her lips thinning out into a line. "If she wants to break her neck, that's none of my business," she said. "Similarly, if it were me up there, I wouldn't want Ymir to stop me."

 _She probably would, though,_  Armin thought, though he didn't share it with her.

"That's not really all that high," Armin said, squinting up at the rock. "Lots of people jump from there normally, I think, and it's about as safe as you're going to get here."

"That's good to know…" Historia said quietly.

"You lazy a-holes should get this on video," Ymir called from her perch, bouncing on her heels. "Just saying!"

"Just jump!" Connie bellowed through his hands. Ymir looked at him, and Armin thought she'd flip him off, but she didn't.

Instead she jumped.

She jumped, and Armin watched, his stomach lurching in horror in spite of knowing her odds, and knowing she'd land perfectly in the center of the pool, and knowing that she was fine even as the collision of her body against the water cracked like a bullet, melting with the cry of cicadas and crickets and some obscure bird twittering in a nearby tree. Armin had been holding his breath when Ymir resurfaced, her sweater billowing around her and her hair plastered to her face.

She threw her head back and laughed.

* * *

"Mikasa," Armin said the next morning, "how many fish hooks are supposed to be on my wall?"

"What," Jean groaned, his cheek resting on his arm as he stared at Armin incredulously, "the fuck kind of question is that…?"

"I'm just curious," he said, cleaning up the space around Mikasa's counter as she flipped a pancake in a griddle. She didn't look especially concerned, her focus on their breakfast and not so much on his words. Jean had already declared he was not hungry, because his hangover was too intense.

"I'm surprised the fish hooks is what you're asking about," she said, "and not the painting."

"That's pretty creepy too, not gonna lie."

"Yeah, I know," she said. "I hate it."

"So," Armin said amusedly, "naturally you put me in there."

"Jean's a guest," she said flatly, dumping the pancake onto a plate. "He gets the least creepy room by default."

"I'm not a guest?" he teased her, though he felt a little hurt by the comment in truth. She glanced at him, and she handed him the plate.

"No," she said, staring fervently into his eyes.

 _Oh_ , he thought dumbly as she turned away. He understood.  _I'm not a guest to her_.

He was family.

A small smile was stuck upon his face as he set the plate down at the table. Jean was still resting his head on his arm, and he glared up at Armin. "What are you so happy about?" he asked.

"Oh," Armin said, his smile widening, "I'm just really glad I'm not hungover. It must really suck, huh?"

"Go fuck yourself."

"How are you holding up?" he asked Mikasa, noting her glare. She wanted him to eat, but he wasn't particularly hungry.

"I wasn't drunk," she said. "So I'm not hungover. Go eat."

"Okay," he said, not wanting to get on her bad side. "What time does the shop open, again?"

"Eight," she said. "Technically. But I don't really get down there until nine, and no one cares. Unless there's an emergency."

"I want to sleep," Jean moaned.

"You did," Armin reminded.

"Somewhere not a coach, please."

"Then you shouldn't have passed out there," Mikasa said.

"God fuckin'…"

"So do you two have anything on the agenda for the day?" she asked.

"Sleep," Jean mumbled. Armin ignored him.

"I'm gonna go out into town, I think," he said. "Look around, catch up on stuff I've missed. At least, I'm hoping to, anyway."

"That's good," Mikasa said. "Go eat breakfast."

"Yeah, okay." He dug through her cabinet drawer for a fork. "Your organizational skills are lacking. Big time."

"Haven't gotten to the kitchen yet," she said.

"I can do it," he offered.

She glanced at him. Then, she shrugged. "If you want," she said, though he could sense that she was grateful.

"It's the least I can do," he admitted, plopping down at the table. "Considering I can't really contribute financially right now."

"Broke ass bitch," Jean said, pointing at him. Armin very carefully pushed Jean's finger away, shaking his head.

"Go lay down, Jean," he said.

"I'm hungry," he objected.

"No you're not."

Jean scowled. But he did sit upright and sigh very loudly. "I feel like the older I get, the lower my tolerance for alcohol becomes."

"That's very sad," Armin said.

Jean frowned at him, and he stood up, leaving the room without another word. Armin allowed himself to feel triumphant. He began to eat slowly, mechanically, his hand moving and his mind wandering. He didn't like letting his mind wander, because it always returned to Eren, and he could just feel his chest clench up, and his breath grow short, and he didn't want to think about those things. They scared him.

"You aren't using syrup?"

Mikasa sat down beside him, offering him a tiny pot of maple syrup. He stared at it, minutely confused, because he honestly had not even thought of it. "Ah," he said weakly. "Sure."

They sat and ate quietly for a few minutes, the sound of scraping forks and knives filling his ears and head, keeping his mind from trailing to unsavory thoughts. He was so thankful for her. But even so, the thought that she might've lied to him the night before was weighing on him, pressing him to the ground and breathing down his neck. He didn't want to suspect his best friend of anything, but how could he not when it was so clear that she was hiding something? She didn't want to talk to him about it, fine, but this was Eren. Their best friend. He'd been missing for years. How could she act as though it hadn't happened?

"You slept okay?" Mikasa asked.

"Yes," he said, uncertain about the question. He considered it for a moment, and leaned back. "Actually, better than usual, honestly. I only woke up once."

Mikasa studied him warily. "You wake up a lot at night?" she asked quietly.

He shrugged. "It's not big deal," he said. "It's just a matter of getting my brain to stop pedaling out new theories, I think. It's weird."

She nodded. He realized he was finished with his breakfast, and he set his fork down, staring at her as intently as she stared at him. There was never any discomfort between them. They knew each other too well.

"Listen," she said, taking his plate before he could object. "You're free to wander all around the house and the town, I don't really care. But don't go in the crawlspace."

"What?" Armin tilted his head at her curiously as she dumped their plates in the sink. "The one Eren and I hid in when we were little?"

"Yes, that one."

Armin had been wondering about it, but he'd been hesitant to bring up the subject. "Okay," he said. "I won't go in there, I guess? Is there a particular reason, though?"

"I don't want you getting hurt," she said simply. She met his gaze, and he found himself startled by how genuinely determined she was on getting him to stay away from the crawlspace.

"Sure," he said. "Okay."

"Thank you," she said. And with that, she left the room, leaving him to feel bemused and uncertain.

He ended up sticking around the kitchen to wash the dishes, and she found him a little later, her hair damp and twisted up at the back of her head in a stubby little bun. She was wearing a pair of faded, beaten up shorts and a black tank top. She watched him as he worked at scrubbing the residual grease off the griddle, and he turned to look at her as he felt the heat of her stare.

"What?" he asked.

"You didn't have to—" she began.

"Go to work," he said, scrubbing at the bottom of the griddle more furiously.

She stood in the doorway, and he could sense that she wanted to say more, but she didn't know how. And so she nodded. And she turned away. "I'll be downstairs," she said.

"Okay."

He was left to his own prickly thoughts and awful suspicions, so he quickly turned the faucet off, standing with white knuckles gripping the edge of the sink. He had to think very hard. He certainly didn't suspect Mikasa of doing anything to Eren, but he wouldn't put it past her to lie for his benefit— to shield him from an awful truth. If she knew something, and she knew it would hurt him, she would keep it from him.

So he was left to the task of weeding out the truths and the lies. Firstly, he knew that Mikasa had gone with Eren into the woods that night. And in part, she remembered and regretted it. And then there was the crawlspace. That part was particularly jarring. Why on earth was the crawlspace dangerous? If Armin remembered correctly, it was a cramped tunnel that led through the walls of the old apartment, down into the auto shop below. It was how Mikasa used to sneak out to go to drag races.

Armin quickly dried the dishes, stacking them on the counter beside the sink before heading toward his room to get changed. He was halfway through the process of getting dressed, his jeans on but his tee shirt wilting in his hands as he glanced at the painting on his wall. It wasn't so eerie now in the daylight, but the obscure strokes and the sheer size of it made Armin squirm. He set his shirt aside, walking up to the painting and lifting on the sides of it.

It did not budge.

Armin stared at the painting. He felt momentarily alarmed, but he shook it off quickly, feeling the lining of the painting and running his fingers up the seam between the frame and the canvas, his skin gliding over bumpy strokes of paint until finally he felt something tiny and metal and cold.

Someone had nailed the painting to the wall.

He whirled away from the painting, his mind working fast to piece together this oddity, and he came to a conclusion that he did not like, and that made him feel very anxious. And very suddenly unsafe. He grabbed his tee shirt, tugging it over his head and snatching a plaid button down that he was pretty sure had once been Eren's from the floor. He stuffed it into a messenger bag that held, amongst other things, a camera, several books (including  _Parables of Sina_ , which he'd taken from the coffee table), and a jackknife set.

"Where are you going?" Jean called from the couch as he passed the living room.

"The police station," Armin replied, kicking on his sneakers. He twisted his hair up into a messy bun, glancing at his friend curiously. "You're welcome to come if you're feeling up to it."

"I'm not feeling up to much, right now, bud."

"Suit yourself." Armin opened the front door, blinking dazedly into the misty morning sunlight. It was a very cold spring day, and he wished he'd brought a jacket besides Eren's old flannel shirt. He shivered, gripping the strap of his bag tightly as he headed down the rickety metal stairs and headed out from the garage parking lot. He walked from there, hunched over from the chill, but appreciating the feeling of the biting early air, and the fog that drifted along all around him. Luckily for him he knew where he was going.

He'd been to the Shiganshina Police Department a little too often for comfort, and it wasn't too far from Mikasa's shop. In truth, Shiganshina was small enough that nothing was truly too far from anything. And anyway, Armin liked walking. It kept him alert, and gave him time to think, but made him move enough that he didn't over-analyze.

He had lots of things to think and debate about. The painting. The crawlspace. The texts. The fact that Mikasa had not been where she'd said she'd been the night Eren had disappeared. It was all very strange, and Armin wondered if detective work was really what he was suited for. Certainly he could write dissertations blindfolded about gruesome crimes and the unfolding of such crimes and the aftermath and judicial processing of such crimes, but he'd never done real field work before. At least not on such an incredible scale. Eren's disappearance had rocked the entire town, and yet no one had an ounce of evidence as to where he was or what had happened to him.

Armin had a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought about the amount of time Eren had been missing. He knew how foolish it was to hope that Eren was still alive, but how could he not? How could he not wish for Eren's miraculous return, for a rescue of certain standards, for a twist of fate to leave them all breathless?

All he wanted was for Eren to be alive and okay somewhere. Maybe in Italy, or Belgium, or Turkey. Anywhere, really, so long as it wasn't in a ditch somewhere.

"Hi," Armin said as he walked up to the police department's front desk. "Um, my name is Armin Arlert, I actually used to live here." The woman at the desk was slender and young, with catlike eyes and a smile that he looked almost slimy and mischievous, like that of the Grinch. "I was wondering—"

His eye caught a quick flash of blonde hair as someone very small passed by him. His words trailed away inside his throat, trickling like rain on a leaf, and he swallowed thickly as Annie Leonhardt shot him a glance. He was not so shocked to see her, but to see her in uniform. He saw her assess him for a moment before her one visible eye widened momentarily.

"Yes?" the girl at the front desk asked. "You were wondering?"

"I…" Armin was struck by the sheer luck of the situation at hand. He kept his eyes directly on Annie, deliberately gauging the other girl's interest.

"He's here for me," Annie finally said. She turned directly to face him, and he wanted to smile but he kept on his dumbstruck act a little long than he anticipated. Perhaps he  _was_  dumbstruck to see her.

"For you," the girl said dully. Her smirk pulled taut, and she pressed a primly manicured nail to her chin. "Well that's new. I didn't know you dug boys, Annie."

"At least the boys I dig are my age, Hitch," Annie retaliated.

"Rude," Hitch cooed.

Annie grabbed Armin by the collar and dragged him behind the front desk, much to his dismay, and through a series of cubicles until they reached a far corner. She all but threw him against the wall, her droopy blue eyes glued to his face, searching him wildly.

"Why are you here?" she asked him sharply.

He figured there was no point playing an act, but he understood he had to be careful here. Annie was clever, and she knew him well. Regardless of whether she actually thought him a friend or not, she'd be suspicious of him.

"Um," he said weakly, "what am I doing back in town, or what am I doing at the police station?"

"Both."

"Oh." He bit his lip, scratching absently at his knuckles. "Well, both are relative, so I might as well tell you. I'm investigating Eren's disappearance."

"You're not a detective," she said.

"I'm an aspiring investigative journalist," he countered.

"I didn't know that involved solving unsolved murder cases."

Armin did not bristle at the comment that Eren's disappearance was a murder. He was used to it by now. He did, however, shake his head. "Unless you have forensic evidence, you shouldn't classify it as a murder," he said.

"It was a joke," she said blankly.

"I don't really want to joke about Eren's disappearance, Annie," he murmured. She stared at him, silence blanketing them, and he could feel her sympathy growing just by the length of time she held his gaze.

"You're here because you want answers," she clarified.

"Well, yes…" He pressed his back up against the wall, noting that some people were staring. "I had no idea you worked here."

"You don't keep in touch."

"I've been busy…"

"Yeah."

He stared at her, wondering if he'd ever understand her fully, and her him. They were creatures of bad habit, the both of them, and they both understood themselves at least to a fault. He loved being around Annie, but he always felt intimidated by her. Likewise, he understood she had a fondness for him that she didn't often show towards others. It was something he intended to use.

"I'm sorry to spring this on you so suddenly," he blurted. "If I'd known, I would've planned this out better— caught you at the coffee shop or something."

"Pretend to run into me while I'm half-asleep," Annie said, taking a sip from her coffee cup as if to prove a point. "Smart."

"I was just hoping someone here might have some idea about what happened with Eren's investigation," Armin continued. "I never expected to run into you."

"Yeah, well…" She lifted her chin, staring down her long nose at him. As though he were the short one. "Here I am."

"The uniform looks nice," he offered. She gave him a look. "I-I'm serious! You look all official. It's nice."

"Thanks," she said warily. "I guess." She looked down at her shoes, clearly flustered, and he wondered if she was playing coy or if she was really very shy about her appearance. "Eren didn't really get an investigation, by the way."

"What?" Armin asked flatly.

Annie shrugged, staring at her coffee. "Yeah, I know," she sighed. "I was angry when I found out too. When I asked why, I was given some bullshit excuse about there not being enough manpower, or something, and since Dot Pixis retired right in the middle of the investigation, there just wasn't any motivation here. It was a mess. The Jaegers could probably file a lawsuit, honestly."

Armin wondered why they hadn't, but part of him knew why. They'd given up on finding Eren a long time ago.

"So they at least tried," he said desperately, his mind racing and his heart pounding and his eyes growing wider and wider as he realized what this meant for Eren. He  _could_  be dead. Who fucking knew?

"If you call that trying," Annie said dully.

"So an investigation did happen," he said. "It was just never resolved. Right?"

"Yeah…?" She eyed him suspiciously. "You want the file."

He stared down at her, biting the inside of his cheek and smiling sheepishly. She shook her head, and took a swig of coffee. He knew she was debating it, but it still made his insides squirm at how difficult it was with her. She looked around her, and a phone rang somewhere amongst the cubicles.

"Meet me at the café on Maria Street on my lunch break," she said finally. She was staring at her coffee cup sullenly.

"Thank you," he breathed. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

"Yeah." She looked at him. He could tell she was dying to say something, her mouth parting and her feet shuffling. But she didn't. She turned away from him. "I have to go to work."

"Right."

She paused to consider her words. She turned to face him again.

"I'm already at work," she said absently.

"Yes."

"You're the one who should go."

"Also yes."

"Move your ass, Arlert."

"Of course," he said, nodding to her curtly. "I'm sorry I bothered you, I really—"

"Armin," she warned. "We'll talk later."

He flushed, and nodded again. "Right, right."

Talking to Annie again made him feel somewhat content, as though things were a little normal in spite of the enormous rift he felt spanning between him and his old home. Annie had always been distant, so their conversation had merely been a step into old habits, tossing words and baiting one another, a game of wits and whims that never seemed to lead to a winner.

Armin left the station, throwing a glance at Hitch when she wolf whistled at him. It was a little uncomfortable, so he adjusted the strap of his bag and hurried into the street, a wet breeze kissing his cheeks upon stepping outside. He stood for a moment, holding his hand out to watch the drizzle of drops gather inside the creases of his palms.

 _Eren might be dead_ , Armin thought, his stomach clenching up to the point where his breath was stuck inside his throat, and it was a struggle to inhale, the thick, chilly air suspended somewhere within him. It wasn't easy to get himself off that terrible train of thought, to stagger forward and let the thought fall behind, but he did it, and once he did he was able to breathe a bit better, and see a little clearer, and he let the march of his feet and the mist of rain upon his cheeks be the only thoughts inside his cluttered brain.

He went down through a snaking alley, recalling the lazy days and the laughter and the lies, and he wondered. Where had the time gone? He crouched before an old brick wall, feeling the pits in the grout and pressing his lips together to beat down a nostalgic smile. He and Eren had decided to steal a brick from this building, hollow it out, and then return it to the wall.

"Like  _The Secret Garden_ ," he'd said, pulling a knife from his little boot and stabbing at the grout without any care in the world. Armin had merely watched, enthralled, and nodded vaguely, though he could not remember if anything like this had happened in  _The Secret Garden_.

They'd marked the brick with their initials, carving the letters shakily into the rough red surface. The E was jagged, and the J was squiggly, and the double A's were a bit short and stubby. Armin sat squatting between a seedy bar and an antique shop that Historia worked at. He shimmied the brick loose. Flakes of red dust came coughing up into his face, and he bent on one knee, chewing the inside of his cheek uncertainly. Finally, after some maneuvering, the brick was pulled free from the wall.

He peeked into the hole they'd left, a rectangular space framed by chipped gray grout. He saw cobwebs. A fat little ant came inching toward Armin, and then pivoted away.

The hole was utterly empty.

What had he been thinking?

"Fuck," Armin spat, the brick weighing heavily in his hand. He tried to push it back into the wall, feeling foolish for imagining Eren might've left him something the night he'd disappeared. It was unlikely Eren would've even remembered this place by that point. He was such a hopeless fool.

A piece of paper slipped into his lap.

He dropped the brick, and it clattered against the asphalt, its hollow inside bare for Armin to see.

 _Oh_ , he thought numbly.  _Right. We gutted it to make it more inconspicuous_.

Armin sat on his knees in the dingy alley, the rain stopping and starting in rapid intervals. He stared at the dirt smudged little note that had been folded half-heartedly and jammed inside the brick. It must have been dark when he'd done it. If he'd done it the night he'd disappeared.

He picked it up tentatively, holding it be the corners as though it were tissue paper, fragile and poised to rip apart at the slightest of pressure.

As he unfolded it, his heart was beating hard, and he was exhilarated from the very touch of this little slip of paper, jumped up on a high of adrenaline as Eren's old scritch-scratchy scrawl bled into Armin's eyes, sticking upon his brain and absorbing fast. He felt sick and shaky, his knuckles itching and his mouth dry.

He'd expected something like an explanation.  _Armin_ , it should've said.  _I went into the woods for such and such reason. I know, I am a total idiot. If you're reading this, I expect I'm probably in the hospital or something. Or worse! That'd suck, shit, I'm sorry. You should've came, though_.

Instead he got two words.

_Falls._

_Bait._

_Eren,_  Armin thought dizzily.  _Eren, what the hell were you doing?_

Armin stuffed the note into his pocket, breathless and terrified and shaking so badly that he wasn't certain he'd be able to stand up. So he sat on the floor of the alleyway, tears stinging his eyes, and he rocked back, and rocked forward, and blinked furiously as a heavy weight crushed his throat, leaving his head to pound away like an angry fist rapping at his skull.

He ripped open his bag, pulling out a small journal and a pen, writing fast upon it as miniscule droplets darkened the crisp yellow page.

_What happened to you, Eren?_

He tore the page out of the journal, swallowing thickly, painfully, his tears drying before they even hit his cheeks, and he folded it fast and stuffed it into the brick.

This was a moment where he understood the sheer incredulity of his situation. To think that Eren had thought of him at all that night, that he'd left a clue like this for Armin to find. Why had he not thought of it sooner? Why had it taken such sickening nostalgia to bring about this development?

Falls.

Falling?

Falls.

Titan's Maw.

Back to that.

Armin considered the time, and the weather, and he also considered how he was dressed.

He set out, his legs unsteady as he rounded a corner and began a breathless trek to the center of town. Where the Rose Bridge was.

The river was rough there, but it'd lead him to the two craggy rocks and through the passage.

He had time before he met Annie, didn't he?

Sure.

He headed toward the river, his thoughts in shambles and his mind hardly at ease. He wanted to scream, to run back to the apartment and tell Mikasa what he'd found, but he wasn't so certain about it, or about anything, and he needed a place to go and think. Why had Eren hidden that specific note? Why those two words?

Falls was something Armin understood, but Bait?

What was bait?

Ah, it was confusing.

He found himself standing at the edge of the bridge, watching the water shift and sway in the springtime breeze, raindrops biting tiny holes in its restless surface. The river was too wide here, so he'd have to follow it until it became rocky and volatile, thinned out by the bumpy terrain and the vicious twists and turns of the forest. He lowered himself onto a narrow rock path cut into the flood-wall, skirting the river with deliberate swiftness. He didn't want to keep Annie waiting, so he had to be quick.

 _What was Eren thinking_ , Armin wondered as he pulled off his sneakers and socks, stuffing them into his bag,  _when he left me that note?_

Certainly the note was meant for him. As though Eren had known he would vanish in the woods that night, and he'd intentionally clued Armin in.

He was being too optimistic.

He was wasting his time.

The river was cold, and the air was bitter, and there was a heavy wetness just about everywhere. In the breath he breathed, in the soil beneath his toes, in his bleary vision as he kept his tears at bay. He was exhausted, and exasperated, and expecting too much from a world that did not play fair. He did not believe in fates or gods, but if he did, he didn't think any of them would take his side on this matter. He felt as though finding Eren was some unreachable bar, and he was standing on the ground with his hands outstretched toward the sky, fingers clenching and unclenching in a shivering shaft of light and shadow.

Untouchable, unspeakable, unsolvable.

Eren, Eren, Eren.

Unstoppable, unbreakable, unmovable.

Armin was scared that the boy he'd known for years and years, a lifetime of love and laughter and lingering longings, was gone forever.

And that was unbearable.

He climbed over the rocks with a greater ease than he had in years past, his feet finding purchase on the slimy stones in spite of his poor balance. He was careful of where he stepped, and quick to jump back upon land if the terrain called for it. Soon enough he was listening to the water roar around him, and the crags were lifted into he air, black jaws snarling outward toward him in the mist and the bog and the midmorning drizzle.

There had to be a better way than the darkened pass through the waterfall.

Armin stood, ankle deep in rushing water, his ears ringing from the din of the river and the hiss of the rain. The world seemed to be nothing but a damp, dark place, especially here, especially now, and he felt that nature was disagreeing with him as he took a look around and around, walls of rock and moss climbing up into the bleached out sky.

He understood the layout of Titan's Maw, and he also knew that the crags led up onto the cliffside that Ymir had once leapt from, an uneven platform of slippery stones and dangerous palisades. Armin waded to the edge of the riverbank, finding a nice, elevated stone that was easy to climb upon. He dropped his bag there, not particularly worried about thieves, considering the time of day and the weather and the town's reputation. Honestly, if anyone were to steal from him, it'd be Ymir, Historia, or Annie, and he thought it unlikely that any of them would be there.

He wiggled his wet toes, scraping them against the rock until they felt dry, and then he began to climb. The cliff was like a series of sharp indents, and then sharp jutting stones, sharp, sharp, oh so sharp, discolored and mossy and hard to hold onto. Armin was scared, but he kept himself climbing, his feet moving and his fingers scratching and his breath heavy as his body ascended in a strange, rhythmic pace.

He was standing upon the crags, heart pounding, lips trembling, and causing the hair on the back of his neck to wilt.

The water below was frothy and green, pointy rocks poking out of the trembling surface like stained teeth. Down below was a gaping mouth, the collision of the waterfall against the pool like the sound of some great beast gurgling and spitting. From this height, the pool was not a pool, but a snarling maw.

Armin felt lightheaded. He understood.

He moved his bloody feet, and he felt as though something was dragging him forward, forcing him this way and that, and he couldn't even pretend that it bothered him. He was so sick of caring.

The air was singing around him, a breeze like a knife, a mist like a screen of smoke, and he was blinded and intoxicated.

 _I could die up here_ , he thought tipping his head over the edge to peer at the drop and the rocks and the spittle of the waterfall deep down below.

"People come up here to die," he found himself uttering aloud. He tilted his head up. The cliff was yawning above him. The forest beyond it. He knew the odds. Had Eren?

He peered at his crimson fingers, his body aching and whining and begging him not to.

He leapt from the rock, and left his fear behind him.

In the end, not a great idea.

The water was really fucking cold, and it didn't wash away any of Armin's anxieties, and it was really fucking cold.

He dragged himself back to the surface, feeling as though someone had decided to take a long, narrow knife, and lovingly stab him once, twice, thrice, thirty times in the frontal lobe.

"Shit," he gasped, flailing a little as he blinked the tears out of his eyes.

Well, Eren would've survived that for sure.

Maybe he should've jumped from a higher place?

Ah, fuck it, he wasn't trying that again today.

Falls. Bait.

Armin hated himself a little for being such a goddamn fool.

He used the pass to get back to his bag, already drenched to the point where the waterfall did not faze him, though it did cause another blinding bout of knifing cold. He snatched his bag, standing in the river in his shivering state, and feeling as though he'd just made a grand fool of himself in front of the entire world.

What would Annie say?

He found a makeshift path carved out of the stone about a half-mile upstream, near a more populated area. He pulled on his shoes, his teeth chattering a bit as the air misted around him, and he felt the stillness of the world around him, the reality of being all alone in the woods settling upon him. He walked, old leaves and sticks crunching and cracking underfoot, and he breathed in deeply in order to relieve the stress and the paranoia.

He found himself turning his head about, watching the leaves on the trees sway in the breeze, moving in and around the forest until he finally stopped to let his legs and feet rest. Blood and water were soaking through his shoes, and his thighs were chafing against his jeans. He examined his red fingers, picking at the remnants of his fingernails and frowning.

This sucked.

He pulled his phone from his bag, wiping his fingers on the fabric so he didn't smudge blood on his screen. He scrolled through his contacts until he got to Jean.

The tone rung for a bit.

Jean didn't answer.

"Motherfucker," Armin muttered, kicking off the tree he'd been leaning on and marching forward. He wasn't lost, really. There were tons of signs throughout the forest, and it wasn't a big forest either. Between the river and the town there were paths that snaked throughout the woods, so he should be fine. Also, people liked to fish in the river, so there were various little milestones of sorts around these parts.

Armin called Jean again.

It rung and rung and rung.

"—' _Lo_?"

"Hey," Armin said, kicking a stick and wincing in pain. "Can you do me a favor?"

" _Depends_ ," said Jean, his voice thick with sleep. " _Do I gotta get up_?"

"Yes, Jean."

" _Fuck you_."

"Please," Armin begged. "You'll meet a really cute girl."

" _Fuck_ ," Jean swore. " _How cute_?"

Armin hummed softly to himself, feeling a little gross from the river water. His teeth were still chattering. "Super cute," he said. "A little intimidating, but she's really a big softy."

" _Doesn't sound like my type_."

"You have a type?" Armin let his voice grow mocking and clipped.

" _I'm fucking going, okay? Chill_." Jean was shuffling around, and Armin couldn't help but be relieved. He didn't know if he had Annie's number anymore. " _Uh… where am I going_?"

"A café on Maria Street," Armin said. "She's really tiny and blonde."

" _Am I looking for you, bud_?"

"Tinier, blonder," Armin sighed, "a police officer. Not me."

" _Oh_." Armin heard a door open and close. " _Oh_!"

"Take a left on Ross, and you can just keep going straight for a little while until you hit the police station, which is hard to miss. Then turn left again, and you'll be on Maria, and you basically don't need anymore directions."

" _Kay_ ," Jean muttered. " _Stay on the phone, though. Just in case. Wait, where are you_?"

"Uh…" Armin looked around. Trees. Trees. Trees. "In the woods. Somewhere near the river."

" _What the fuck_?"

"I know," he said weakly. "I know, I totally did not expect this to happen, but here I am, in the woods, a little lost and a little scared shitless, but hey."

" _Don't piss yourself_ ," Jean laughed.

"Yeah, okay." Armin rolled his eyes. "Anyway, when you meet her, don't… be you."

" _Okay_ ," Jean said flatly. " _Who should I be, then? The prime minister?_ "

"Maybe," Armin said. "She wouldn't kick you in the balls if you were."

" _I'm turning around right now and heading back_."

"I'm joking," Armin blurted.  _Mostly_. "But seriously, don't like, piss her off okay, she's really scary when she's angry. Don't point out that she's not smiling, and don't tease her. Don't make any gross comments. Just tell her that you're there in my place, and apologize for me."

" _You owe me for this_."

"Yes," Armin sighed, every step a jolt of pain through his toes, spiking up into his legs and bursting outward, reaching and reaching through his veins and muscles until it prickled the surface of his skin. "Don't film her either. She might break your camera, and I want it to be confidential that she helped us. Okay?"

" _Fine…_ "

As Armin took a turn, he noted a path to his left, paved and enticing. He took a step toward it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a dark gray smudge in his line of vision, like a great big glob of ash clinging to his eyelashes. Armin turned his head ever so slightly to just glance at it, and he saw, with some vague interest, that it was nothing but a rickety old shack, a discolored shed that had been abandoned and gnawed at by termites for who knew how long.

" _I think I'm lost_ ," Jean sighed in his ear.

 _Me too,_  Armin thought.

Armin squinted at the shed.

There was an old, faded sign over the mantel of the door.

 _Live bait_.

Oh.

"Jean," Armin said. "In horror movies, when the one character goes off alone in the forest, and finds a creepy old shed that kinda seems like it might lead exactly where you want it to lead, what happens to that character?"

Jean was very quiet.

" _Armin_ ," he said. " _Are you okay_?"

"I feel funny," he admitted, his aching feet gravitating toward the shack. "I've felt funny all morning. Detached. I'm making decisions without any ground for them, and that's unlike me. I'm just letting things happen, and I don't know what I'm doing." He could hear the distress in his own voice, but he felt emptied of all concern. "I found a note from Eren."

" _WHAT_?"

"Yeah," he said distantly, standing outside the small shack, feeling the wind sway him to and fro. "Yeah, and it only said two words. Falls and bait."

" _What the fuck is that supposed to mean_?"

"I thought the first one meant the river," Armin said, staring vacantly at the door. "But when I went to Titan's Maw, I couldn't understand why Eren would point to that. So I'm in the woods now, and I just found this old shed, and it's got a sign." Armin craned his neck to look at it. "Live bait."

" _All of my horror movie expert instincts say_ ," Jean said very slowly, " _get the fuck out of there_."

"I have to look," Armin murmured.

" _Armin_!"

"When you're done with Annie, you should come here," he insisted. "Take pictures, or a video. It's really creepy, you'd love it."

" _Once again_ ," Jean hissed. " _Do not do anything by yourself. You crazy bastard_."

"You sound so worried." Armin pushed open the door. Dust coughed into his face, and he shivered. The air was suddenly thick and musty, still unbearably chilly. The door got snagged on a heavy, ratty gray carpet, so Armin kicked it open, squeaking when it collided with the opposite wall. "It wasn't even locked!"

" _There's probably like, a hobo sleeping in there_!" Jean sounded actually very worried. " _Okay. Okay, tell me what you find. Don't get like, mugged, or something_."

"Don't plan on it."

The interior of the shed was cluttered, fishing poles lying uselessly on the ground and leaning up in corners, cobwebs binding them in skinny columns. There were tackle boxes on the floor, old and stained and dusty, a large spade leaned up beside the old fishing poles, and in all honesty the shack was so tiny that Armin doubted there was anyone hiding in there. He checked behind his shoulder once more, just to be sure there was no one following him, as any anxious person would, given the bad vibes he was getting from this place.

"There's no one here," Armin informed Jean. "It's just a shed. A really old, dusty shed."

" _That's good, at least. Oh, hey! Maria Street_!"

"Great job," Armin said. He moved deeper into the shack, squinting through the dim light filtered in through the open door, and he saw there were hooks in a jar on the shelf. Beside them, a grimy container which Armin imagined contained a whole lot of dead worms.  _Live bait_ , he thought amusedly. He felt something crack beneath his wet sneaker, and he paused, looking down at the floor. "I stepped on something."

" _Are you okay_?"

"Yeah." Armin knelt down, holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder. "You actually don't have to come here, now that I'm thinking about it. It's just as disappointing as Titan's Maw."

" _Bumme_ r," Jean snorted. " _So I got up for nothing_."

"No," Armin said, plucking up the hook and tackle he'd treaded on unintentionally. "You got up to get Eren's file from Annie. Keep up, Jean."

" _You did_ not  _tell me that_!"

Armin crouched, peering at the hook in the pale streams of daylight that shivered and flickered, leaving the shed dim and bathed in shadows. This hook was no different. It looked just like any other hook and tackle. Armin nearly dropped it back down onto the moth eaten carpet.

Then he caught a gleam of green, and he halted.

He held the tackle up to the light.

"What the…?" he uttered softly, his mind reeling backwards, and then forwards, and then with a great burst of bemusement all thought halted.

" _What_?" Jean asked.

Mistaken, he was mistaken, he must've been mistaken, because it was far too bizarre to even fancy the thought of it. The mere idea of this hook, this misshapen little green tackle, gaudy and old and cumbersome between his fingers, the idea that this little thing was the same hook that had disappeared from his wall that morning was ludicrous at best. Unsettling at worst.

"I just found…" Armin's voice was shaky and thin. He didn't think it was too bad, this weird little find, because it couldn't be the same hook, it was just too strange. But his memory was impeccable.

His memory was, wasn't it?

"Jean," Armin said faintly, "I have photographic memory."

" _Yeah_ …?" He didn't sound really interested at all, and Armin's heart rate was spiking to dangerous levels.

"I do," he murmured, rolling the tackle between his fingers. "I do, I  _do_ , don't I?"

" _Armin_ …?"

"Ignore me," Armin laughed shakily, "oh, just ignore me, I'm totally just… losing it, I think, I mean… how… is it possible…?" Armin fell onto his knees, and he began to laugh harder, his tears a mask to cover just how utterly baffled he was by this entire change of pace. He was logic, and he was fact, but there was no explanation for this find.

He shifted, and the wood beneath the carpet creaked.

His heart rate, rapid and uneven as it was, seemed to simply stop all at once.

"Hold on," he gasped, tossing his phone aside. It slid across the carpet, and Armin listened to Jean's voice as he replied inaudible words.

Armin felt around beneath the shelf, holding his nerves and letting them grow steels as his fingers caught on spider webs and rat droppings, things that really should not be so close to his stubby, bloody fingernails. He pulled the edge of the carpet up, ignoring the onslaught of dust and dirt that blew across his vision, and he flipped the old, beaten cloth until half the pallid floor was visible.

"No way," Armin breathed, collapsing back on his hands, dizzy and sick.

There was a rectangle sliced into the floor. A trap door.

Armin sat for about a minute letting his disbelief sink in. He was shivery, his teeth chattering and his clothes plastered to his skin, his discomfort only growing with every spare second that he was left to the chilly spring air and the gross humidity. He was half-frozen, wet and bloodied, and yet here he was, sitting on the floor of some obscure little shack, staring and wondering and waiting, because after all, he should never have been here.

Falls? Bait?

Armin kicked the remainder of the carpet out of the way, and he crawled carefully, mindful of the groaning old wood. The little door was locked, he noted, spotting the metal hatch. He took the lock in his hand, peering at its shape, and then ran his thumb over the keyhole. He snatched his phone, and put it on speaker.

"Hey," he said, digging through his bag, "so you need to get over here. Like, as soon as possible."

" _What the fuck just happened_?" Jean asked flatly. " _Dude, I am in the café. There is no girl_."

"She's probably still working, okay?" He pulled out his jackknife set, his numb, blood smeared fingers trembling at the lid. He paused, and he grabbed his camera, standing up shakily and adjusting the lens, watching the focus go in and out. "Just get here as soon as you can."

" _Did you find something in there_?"

"Um, well," Armin took several pictures of the trap door, and then he went outside to take pictures of the shed itself. He moved around the shed to be sure there was no one lurking, like he was so paranoid there was, and he then went back inside to answer Jean. "Okay, yes. I found something. I don't know what to do, though."

" _What do you mean_?" Jean asked eagerly. " _Is it a dead body_?"

"You're fucking morbid."

" _That was a legitimate question_!"

"No," Armin sighed. At least, he thought, eying the trap door, I don't think so. "It's a trap door."

Jean was very quiet. Armin pushed open his jackknife set, and set out to work. He was usually very good at picking locks— he had a bad habit of it, something he'd learned from Eren who'd learned from Annie. Who'd probably learned from Historia and Ymir.

" _Are you serious_?" Jean asked distantly.

"I'm picking the lock right now," Armin responded, wincing as the tools slipped against his damp fingers. He could hear the lock jostling, and feel the bolts shift. "It's probably nothing."

" _Doesn't sound like nothing_."

"It's so strange," Armin said, his mind on the lock and the missing hook, flipping unsteadily between the two and fumbling for answers. "I found a hook in here that looks exactly like the one that went missing from my wall this morning."

" _That's_ …" Jean sounded very uncomfortable. Armin stared at his shaky fingers as the lock clicked. " _That's creepy as hell. Where are you, again_?"

"A shed," Armin said, putting the lock aside and reorganizing his jackknife set. "It's near a path— a paved path, really close to the river, where lots of people fish. Get directions from Annie, if you're confused."

" _You should get out of there_ ," Jean said very slowly. " _I don't like that you're out there alone. You should've waited for me, or brought Mikasa_."

"You were hung over," Armin reminded, stuffing the set back into his bag alongside the hook, "and Mikasa was working."

" _You don't go out into the woods all alone, stupid_!"

He wanted to explain that he'd been trying to recreate, in part, what had happened to Eren that night by attempting to retrace his steps. He'd been in the alleyway at some point, and then headed to Titan's Maw, if the note was correct, and then…? To the shed? For what?

"Just get the file," Armin said, flicking the latch. His breath was caught in his throat as he flung the door open.

" _Are you kidding me_?" Jean snapped. " _You're not going to go down there, are you_?"

"You're on the phone with me," Armin reasoned. He turned the flashlight on his phone on, lowering his arm into the hole and gliding it over the immediate space below. He saw a ladder, of course, and a concrete floor. Little else. "It looks empty."

" _If you're not in there, you don't know for sure_!"

Armin considered his words carefully.

"You're right," he said. He swallowed his crippling anxiety, and he threw his legs over onto the ladder. Jean was laughing, likely in an agreement of sorts.  _Yes_ , he was almost certainly thinking,  _of course I'm right!_  Typical Jean.

The ladder creaked.

Armin's legs shook like leaves upon a spindly branch.

He was waiting for something to grab his ankle.

For claws or nails or bony fingers.

For something.

He lowered his head into the hole, and the cold air hit him like a punch in the jaw. He was tearing up, his vision bleary and his teeth chattering. He was so cold, and his entire body was either cramped and achy, or frighteningly numb.

He went down with his body facing the way his back might've faced if he climbed down the ladder normally. His phone was clenched in his trembling hand. Light was moving in a heavy shaft through the darkness, moving across clumped dirt walls, must and decay rolling inside his mouth, clogging up inside his throat. He was dizzy from the damp air, from the cold and the dark and the ringing silence.

"It's…" Armin let his sneakers brush the ground, and the earth was soft beneath his feet. There were wooden beams along the walls, he noted, shining his light across them, likely to support the weight of the soil and the shed above. "It looks a little like an unfinished shelter of some kind."

" _You went down there_?" Jean's voice was flat and disbelieving. " _After I explicitly stated not to do that. Why don't you even listen to me_?"

"The floor and walls are mostly dirt," Armin observed, tilting his light up at the ceiling. It was surprisingly tall, and when he reached up, his fingers didn't touch it. "It's pretty big, actually. I think it tunnels down further."

" _You know, I always thought I was the dumb one_ ," Jean hissed. " _But you are clearly a total fucking idiot. Do I have to like, mom you, or something? Get out of there right now, young man_."

"Oh, please," Armin laughed uneasily, the cold and the dark and the silence all beating into his bones as he turned about in place, his light flickering in the dark.

His heart dropped into his stomach after the shivering light trailed across the contours of a face in the darkness, hollow eyes flashing in the torchlight, a blur of something humanoid standing a yard, two yards, three yards away. Armin had frozen, unable to breathe or move, his thoughts caught in a trap, and the icy air bit into his creaky bones.

His back was to the ladder. His mind was to the soft soil.

The silence cracked like a bullet through his skull, and he felt his brain receive the shrapnel of bone, the entire blast leaving him sickened and immobile. His phone fell from his fist, and collided with something hard. Concrete? Oh, right, he'd seen that before descending. Was this little hole in the ground half-finished?

Jean's silly words were drowned out by the whooshing of the air around him inside his ears. He could not breathe.

"Armin?" Eren's voice bled through him, smearing his skin and trickling into his veins.

As Armin tipped, overtaken by a spell of dizziness, the world grew darker, and from up above him the trap door slammed shut.


	4. Chapter 4

**no time for sickness**

When Armin had met Mikasa, she'd been timid and small, her eyes too big and her knees a little wobbly. She hadn't really interacted with him or Eren, and instead had stood by her parents with a patient gaze and a docile demeanor. Armin couldn't remember, but he was positive that she had just been visiting for a funeral, or something equally as unfortunate. She had glanced at them when her parents had spoken to Eren's father, but otherwise she'd merely looked bored with them.

Her parents had died far away from Shiganshina, and she'd had the misfortune of being dragged to the small town to live with her only remaining living relative. She'd gone to Dr. Jaeger for inevitable PTSD, and ended up befriending Eren that way. Eren had somewhat taken her under his wing, more or less declaring her part of his family regardless of where she was obligated to live. Eren refused to acknowledge where she'd lived as her home, and ignored mentions of her actual blood relatives. He wouldn't take any of it.

Armin had never tried to dissuade this way of thinking, but at first he'd thought if very strange. Until one day, a muggy August afternoon, when they'd gone wading at the banks of the river, Armin had noticed something about Mikasa.

With her skirt hiked up, and her shirt tied off, and her sleeves rolled up to her shoulders, Armin could see more of the girl's skin than he'd ever seen of any girl's skin in his entire life. And to his childish gaze, every blemish was intensified. Every angry black bruise was a heavy welt that scorched itself into his brain. He'd stopped dead in his tracks, his feet caked with mud and his eyes wide and horrified, and he watched his friend dance from one slippery rock to another, dodging Eren's pail of murky river water.

Armin had not needed an adult to tell him what the bruises meant.

So, with a heavy heart, he'd told them.

He'd gone to Eren's house a week later, purposefully avoiding his best friend by appearing while he was at a piano lesson. He'd knocked on the door, nervous and fearful of what his words might ignite, but he could not bear to keep this terrible truth a secret any longer. When Carla Jaeger opened the door, she looked down at Armin with large eyes, and a sweet smile.

"Oh," she gasped, resting her hands on her knees and leaning toward him, "Armin! Eren's actually not here—"

"I know," he'd interrupted, scratching his knuckles anxiously. "May I come in?"

Carla had looked at him with such blatant alarm that it was clear she sensed something wrong. She'd stepped aside, allowing him into the house, and he'd stood awkwardly in the hall until she led him toward the kitchen.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked him, looking eager to busy herself as she opened a cabinet and grabbed a glass without bothering to let him answer. "Lemonade? Oh, I have cookies—"

"That's not necessary," Armin blurted. He'd rubbed his sweaty palms on his shorts, and taken a deep breath as Eren's mother had stared at him with large, expectant eyes. "I noticed something recently, and… I think Eren's known for a long time. Did he ever say anything about Mikasa's bruises?"

Just like that, Armin saw Carla Jaeger's entire being seem to crumple all at once, her eyes dimming momentarily.

"Bruises?"

"On her arms," Armin explained, pointing to fingers to his bicep, "and on her stomach…" He gesticulated, just above his hip. "On her back… and thighs… and calves…"

"Armin," Carla said, her voice clipped and her eyes suddenly burning. "How long has this been going on?"

"I-I—" he gasped, taking a step back. He'd nearly tripped over his own feet, and his shame was creeping upon him. He'd scratched his knuckles so hard that they became raw, and he felt tears burning his eyes. Tears for Mikasa, tears for himself. "I don't really know, I only just noticed. Some bruises were yellowish, though, and some blue, and some black, so I don't know. I don't know why she never said anything…"

Carla was usually levelheaded, but Armin saw in her face the very fire that flickered inside Eren's bouts of rage that shook the earth whenever something did not conform to his fierce world views. This woman was about to wage war, and it'd be all Armin's fault for saying anything. Perhaps there had been a reason why Eren had never spoken up. Or, perhaps, Mikasa had talked him out of it. Either way, Armin felt a little betrayed.

As Carla paced about the kitchen, Armin felt as though he needed to flee. The Jaegers were such immensely kind people, but holy shit, were they frightening when they were angry.

She whirled to face him. "You said," she stated fiercely, "that Eren knew about this?"

Armin had felt his heart drop into his stomach as he realized his folly.

There had to be a reason.

"Oh," he gasped, waving his hands hurriedly. "I don't know that for sure! I just… thought that maybe he might. Because he's with Mikasa more than I am." He glanced away, feeling dirty for lying.  _Liar, liar_ , a voice in his head sang, and he felt sick and grotesque, so he scratched at the white skin of his knuckles and smiled weakly at Eren's disbelieving mother.

"Are you lying, Armin?" Carla Jaeger asked, a stern warning seeping into her tone. He felt it lash upon his cheek, and tears poured from his eyes.

"Yes," he mumbled, his eyes dropping to his feet. He couldn't even see his sneakers, his vision was in such a haze from the tears. "I'm sorry…"

"Oh," Carla sighed, her tone suddenly much more sympathetic. "Oh, no, Armin, don't cry."

He couldn't help it. He'd only just imagined the thought of Eren being angry with him, and that had utterly broken him. How could Armin possibly explain himself?

"Please," Armin begged, rubbing at his cheeks furiously. His voice croaked from his throat, shaking in midair. "Please make sure Mikasa's okay, I— I don't think I'd be able to live with myself if she wasn't…"

Carla knelt before Armin, and she nodded firmly, wiping his tears with the pad of her thumb. She smiled warmly. "I will," she swore.

"Don't tell anyone it was me who snitched, either," he gasped, shaking his head furiously. "Pretend like you saw it! No, better yet, make sure they're actually there first!"

"I can take it from here Armin," Carla said gently, "don't you worry."

He'd nodded. He'd nodded.

He'd scratched his knuckled until they bled, but he'd nodded all the same.

* * *

Armin woke up to a shrill, unfamiliar alarm, which sung in a steady rhythm with ever breath he took. His body felt stiff and unyielding, and that made him a little confused, because that must mean that he'd been asleep for a while. Armin didn't really sleep. He noted that he could not move either, which was a frightening prospect, if not for the fact that Armin felt emptied of all emotions. When he tried to pry his eyes open, a shock of pure pain jolted through his skull, bouncing and colliding with the sides of his brain, and he groaned softly, feeling as though his head had just collapsed onto itself.

"Armin?"

The voice was sweet and soft and muffled beyond recognition. Something was brushing his hand, but it could be anything, from a blanket to a stray cat, he did not know.

"Armin, wake up…"

The voice was louder, and it was easier to pick up who the voice belonged to. It was a struggle to crack an eye open, and when he did so he was blinded. He groaned louder, and he lifted his arm to cover his eyes, and felt his hand snag on something. He forced his eyelids back, squinting through the flare of light that swooped across his vision, and he saw with some vague alarm that there was a tube stuck in his arm.

"Wha…" His mouth was dry and his throat was sore. "What…?"

"Armin…"

He glanced up, and he blinked rapidly as Mikasa's face hovered over his. She was holding his hand tightly, her dark eyes foggy with concern, and he was distraught as he tried to piece together exactly what had happened, his mind in shambles as it picked up the pieces and tried to assemble them into a concrete reason for why he was hospitalized.

"Mikasa…" he said, his voice a meager little croak, and tears filled his eyes. He felt nothing, and yet everything hurt. He saw the bandages on his fingers, winding around and around and around, and he felt compelled to rip them all off. "What happened…? What am I… doing…?"

"Shh." She smoothed his hair back, kneeling beside his bed. He noted Jean in the corner, sleeping in a chair. "You're here because hit your head." She rubbed his head, and he actually winced, a spike of pain driving through the front of his head and spearing through the back. "Sorry…"

"How'd I hit…?" Armin's voice trailed away, drowned out by the sound of rushing water and creaky decay and Eren's disbelieving voice and the crash of a trap door slamming shut from up above. "Oh."

"You don't have to explain anything to me," Mikasa whispered, staring into his eyes. "I trust you."

He was so heartbroken by her words, because the entire reason for all of this was because of the very fact that he did not trust her as much as he wanted to.

"Oh," he said faintly. What else could he say?

He thought about Eren. His voice was swimming wildly inside Armin's head, shivering and quaking and floating like music, a stab of percussion notes ringing in his brain.

Had he imagined that? Had Eren really been there?

"What happened?" he whispered, sickened by the thought of being so close to having Eren back. "Did… did Jean find me…?"

"Yes." Mikasa shot a glance at the man who slumbered in the corner, his breathing heavy enough that it was clear he'd been snoozing for a while. "Jean and Annie did. They said you accidentally fell through the floor, by the way."

Accidentally? Armin thought of the careful lock picking he'd done in order to get into that little underground cavern, and he wondered if it would've been so easy as falling.  _Falls. Bait_. He chewed the inside of his cheek, and everything felt fuzzy.

"It didn't happen like that," he breathed.

"I didn't think so," she replied. She sat down on his hospital bed, her eyes lowering to her hands. "Though what happened doesn't explain your fingers and toes."

"Oh." Armin raised his shaky fingers to his eyes, and he wiggled them. "Right. I did some amateur rock climbing."

She picked up his left hand, holding his bandaged fingers in hers as she examined them closely. "You shouldn't have done that," she said.

"No," Armin agreed, "I really shouldn't have."

Mikasa sighed. She stared into his eyes, her brow furrowing a little, and she shook her head. "It's been one day, Armin," she said. "I know you want to find Eren— I get it, I know exactly how you feel, but please take it easy. It's not safe to just run around like the world is yours, like what we did when we were children." She closed her eyes, grasping his hand firmly, and he stared at her in awe.

"Is it more dangerous now, somehow?" he asked her weakly.

"No…" She did not look at him. "It's just… you should know better."

Oh.

Well, now he felt like a child.

He stared vacantly into his lap, and his thoughts ran back to Eren, and those thoughts were Eren's voice saying his name in a slow succession.  _Armin? Armin? Armin?_

Had that been all a feverish dream?

"I'm sorry," he whispered to her. "I didn't think anything bad would happen…"

She nodded, though he felt as though she had something more to say. He watched as she brought the bandaged tips of his fingers to her lips and kissed them.

"Feel better," she whispered, rising to her feet. She looked exhausted. "I have to get back to work."

"Okay…"

She tilted her head at him. And then, faintly, she smiled at him.

"Don't go into the woods," she told him plainly. Her voice was strange and gentle, the sound of a mother comforting a child, the sound of wind whistling through leaves, the sound of Eren calling out in the dark, there or not there, alive or not alive. "Don't put yourself through this kind of pain again."

"I can't promise that," he told her just the same, his voice harsher and more resolute. And her smile widened, then fell. And she nodded. She left him with that.

A nurse came in and explained to him his condition, detailing stuff about his head and his fingers, and most importantly his body temperature, which had rapidly decreased upon falling in the cellar. After being left there for about half an hour, he'd been found and immediately taken to the hospital, which of course was where he was now.

"Can I have a mirror?" he asked Jean when the nurse left. He was sitting, watching Armin with a weak gaze.

"You sure?" he asked tentatively.

Armin sat, resisting the urge to touch his face. What on earth could he possible look like?

"I'm sure," he said firmly.

Jean stood, walking slowly to Armin's cot and offering out his phone. Armin peered at himself through the camera, and he froze. His eyes were gauzy and hollow, his lips wane and purplish, chapped dry like desert ridges, and bloodied up around the corners. There were angry lines running jagged down his right cheek, likely from the cement he'd fallen upon, but also mauve bruises crawling along his jaw and temple beneath the heavy bandages wrapped around his head.

It could've been worse, but he felt as though someone had bashed his face in several times with a hammer. He looked absolutely terrible.

"Gross," he said, sinking into his bed.

"Kinda," Jean admitted.

"You're not supposed to agree," Armin mumbled.

"Sorry, man, you look like shit."

Armin turned the camera away, feeling very empty of feeling, and trying to make sense of the strangeness that had been heaped onto him in the past day or so. The sound of Eren's voice was still bleeding in his head, and it made him feel sick even through the numbness and the foggy mist of morphine dragging through his veins.

"I feel like shit," he whispered.

Jean stared at him. Armin heard his breath, heard him stop breathing, and he watched as his friend look wildly about the room.

"Well," he said, straightening up, "I mean, you could have probably died, so think about it, you actually could've had it way worse."

"You really don't know how to make people feel better," Armin sighed, shaking his head.

"Yeah, I know, I'm awful." Jean stood at the foot of Armin's bed, studying him with a furrowed brow. "God, I… Like, what the fuck, man? What were you thinking?"

 _I was thinking of Eren_ , Armin thought, sinking further into his cot, further into his hazy mind, further into the drum of Eren's voice in the darkness that crept along the rising catacombs of his mind.

Armin bowed his head, ashamed and disoriented.

"I suppose," he admitted, "I wasn't thinking at all."

"Yeah, that's not like you." Jean's eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward, his jaw tightening. "Something happened down there, didn't it?"

Armin didn't want to say that he'd heard Eren's voice, seen his face, because he didn't know if that had been real or some twist of his mind, a trick of the light and acoustics of the damp, earthy cellar. But at the same time, there was something inside him that was breaking apart and begging, begging so desperately, for some validation of the frantic thoughts and bare feelings and messy, worthless actions.

"You were on the phone," Armin whispered, "weren't you?"

"Uh, yeah…" Jean leaned back, looking uncertain. "It was fucking scary."

"Yeah!" Armin leaned forward eagerly. "Yeah, it was! Did you hear it?"

"Hear what?"

"The…" Armin had to choose carefully. The truth or the alteration. What would Jean want to hear? "I thought I heard I voice. I dropped my phone."

Jean squinted at him. Armin wondered if he'd misjudged Jean's thirst for adventure, for answers, for glory.

"I honestly did not hear a voice," he said slowly, his brow furrowing further. "But, like, I heard the door slam. The trap door. And I heard you scream."

"I didn't scream," Armin blurted.

Jean looked puzzled. "No," he said firmly, "no, I definitely heard you screaming."

"I passed out before I made a sound," Armin insisted.

"You screamed," Jean argued. "Dude. Don't even joke. You screamed, and then you started shouting, and then the line went dead."

Armin sat, trying to process that, but he simply could not fathom it. No, he had definitely passed out before even hitting the ground. How could he have screamed?

"Are you sure it was me?" Armin whispered.

Jean was staring with fierce eyes, his jaw unhinging.

"Dude…" he said, shaking his head slowly. "This isn't funny."

"I'm not joking."

"Who else…?" Jean's eyes widened, and he took a step back. "Wait, wait! How did the trap door slam?"

Armin had no real answer to that.

"The wind?" he offered. He knew that to be untrue, but it would be so easy to believe it. Jean shot him a look.

"There's something you're not telling me…" Jean leaned over Armin's footboard, and he scowled. "Cough up. What really happened?"

"I honestly don't know." Armin stared into Jean's eyes, letting his face crumple and his voice quiver, and he was satisfied when Jean frowned, looking disappointed. "I just… I don't know. I can't… explain it, okay?"

"Okay…" Jean looked apprehensive, but he let it slide. For now. Armin sensed he'd be hearing more about this later. "I have the file, by the way."

Armin perked up. At least one good thing came out of the terrible day.

He was eventually permitted to go home, which allowed him to focus on some important things. Like, say, the bullshit he'd went through that morning. The hook, he found, was still in his bag, as was his camera. The note from Eren had unfortunately disintegrated in the pocket of his jeans when he'd jumped into Titan's Maw. He was pissed at himself for that. He hadn't even taken a picture of it.

Mikasa fretted over him, as Mikasa tended to when he was hurt, by silently hovering around him, making sure there was hardly a single discomfort for him. He hated it, but he was glad that she cared, even if it felt a little stifling.

"Okay," Jean said that night while the three of them were sitting in the living room. Armin was thinking about Eren's voice again, feeling as though there were a gaping hole within the structure of the room. "Let's look at this file."

Mikasa raised an eyebrow. "File?" she asked.

Jean stared at her. He shot a glance at Armin, who took it in a stride. "I asked Annie to get me Eren's case file," he explained to her. He glanced at her worriedly. "You aren't mad, are you?"

She was quiet. She pulled her feet up onto the couch, and she shook her head. Armin wasn't sure if he believed her.

"I didn't think you'd get Annie involved," Mikasa said cautiously.

"She's already involved," Armin said. He opened up the manila folder, staring vacantly at the immediate photograph of Eren Jaeger at age fourteen, an old school photo that had been recycled for this purpose. "She obviously knows you lied about not being there that night."

Once again Mikasa was silent. He'd struck a nerve, he thought perhaps, but he didn't know where that would lead.

"She doesn't strike me as the police officer type," Jean admitted. "So what happened there?"

"I don't know," Mikasa said.

Armin wondered if that was the truth.

When had he started doubting every little thing that passed through Mikasa's lips, anyway?

"She definitely acted pretty criminally back in the day." Armin leaned forward, examining the thin file, and noting it was merely the basics. Eren's name, date of birth, age— fifteen at the time of his disappearance—, the date he'd disappeared, gender, race, a list of illnesses he'd had, the treatment he'd received. Armin would have to pick it apart by himself at a later date. "She used to shop lift, you know."

"And now she's a cop," Jean muttered. "Nice."

"We actually all were really bad kids," Armin admitted sheepishly. Mikasa nodded in agreement while Jean stared.

"No wait," he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Okay, seriously?"

"Yes?" Mikasa frowned at him. "I raced illegally. I still race illegally." She jerked a thumb at Armin. "He was an information broker."

"That's overstating it," he muttered, flushing.

"He was an information broker." Mikasa shrugged. "He stopped that awhile ago, though."

"Eren flew on the right side of the law for the most part, though," Armin recalled. "Though he got into a lot of fights."

"He got in trouble for graffiti too," Mikasa sighed, closing her eyes. She was smiling, Armin noted, the corners of his own lips twitching. "Though it was mostly when he was trying to paint over graffiti he thought offensive. He had a bad habit of getting in trouble for things that had nothing to do with him."

"He did, didn't he?" Armin leaned over, turning the page of the file. "There's not even an official statement regarding his disappearance. Who was handling this case?"

"Beats me," Jean scoffed. "I don't live here."

"Probably Pixis," Mikasa said. Armin watched her sink into her chair. "He retired, though."

"Yeah. Annie said." He wondered about that. He'd met Pixis, and he'd been determined to find out what had happened to Eren. But suddenly he'd just retired? Without even bothering to close the case? That didn't seem right. "Something's not right here."

"Sounds like you've got some corrupt cops," Jean said.

"Well, if Annie joined…" Mikasa murmured.

"She's not that bad…" Armin tried to argue. Mikasa glanced at him, and he stared back at her desperately. She merely shook her head, looking defeated.

"I'm going to go to bed," she declared. She stood up, moving toward him, and for a moment he was puzzled, but then she leaned down and brushed her lips to his hair.

Sometimes Armin felt like he was being closed off from the world, locked up in a little airless box and forced to inhale his own hot breath. But somehow, Mikasa, and in the past, Eren, had always found a way to drag him out, to feed him fresh air.

He was lost without them.

What had he done for the past four years without Mikasa by his side? The past seven years without Eren?

Armin wanted to cry, but he couldn't find the tears.

He brought the file to bed with him, pouring over it as he plucked the fish hooks from the wall. He tossed them onto the desk, and while he scanned the papers into his computer he compared the green tackled hook to the rest of them. They seemed to be just about the same in construct, but he wasn't a hundred percent sure.

His entire body was achy by the time he'd read through the file for the third time, and he realized it was because his medication had probably worn off, so he could feel every muscle in him locking up, and he stared at the bandages on his fingers, and felt for the bandage on his head, and he wondered.

Had he dreamed it?

Had he truly just conjured up Eren's face, Eren's voice, Eren's very presence in the dark?

Could that be true?

Armin fell asleep at his desk, thinking hard and coming up with no conclusions. Eren was missing. Eren was still gone.

Eren was gone.

Eren was gone…

Armin woke up in his bed.

Confused, utterly berated with a great hammering pain all throughout his body, and a little bewildered, he awoke with the covers of his bed half thrown over his body, and he blinked rapidly, groaning into his pillow. His headache was viciously chiseling at the right side of his brain.

Dumb. Dumb dumb dumb dumb.

He came to the conclusion that in a sleep deprived state, he'd stumbled back to his bed. So, here he was.

His entire being hurt.

It took him a good hour to muster up the strength to actually get out of bed, which was saying a lot. When he finally rolled out of bed, he ended up taking his blanket with him, because the air was tinged with frost and fright, and he was delirious and in severe pain, so he wandered from his room bundled in a great big blanket, waddling to the kitchen and peeking through the doorway. He sniffled. He realized, with a heavy heart, that he had a cold from jumping into the river like the big fat idiot that he was.

Jean immediately turned his camera upon him.

"Hey, doof," Jean chuckled. Armin pulled his blanket over his head, and promptly flipped him off.

"You look tired," Mikasa observed.

"Mm…" He plopped down at the kitchen table, dragging his blanket further over his head, and he decided he'd be okay just staying like this forever. He'd bring his blanket everywhere, and just drown them out with the fluffy warmness of it whenever they annoyed him. Seemed fair. Yes. Yes, he liked this plan.

_Armin?_

He lowered his head, his bandaged forehead hitting the surface of the table.

_Armin?_

He felt sick. Sick. Sick. Sickened and sad and slipping from reality with a frigid breath crawling down his neck.

_Armin?_

Why couldn't he get that damn voice out of his head?

"Armin?"

He jumped as Mikasa picked his head up with both hands, pushing back his blanket and rubbing her knuckles against his skin. He blinked up at her, feeling startled and stunted, feeling caught in a trap and unable to untangle himself.

"You've got a fever," she said. Her fingers drew upward, and she sighed, shaking her head. "You also haven't changed your bandage."

"I just got up," he mumbled.

"Come on, I'll do it."

Because of Armin's splitting headache and hazy state of being, nothing got done that day. Or the day after. Armin lived in a bleary haze, wandering around the apartment, speaking to Jean, speaking to Mikasa, and never really noticing the things around him. He never questioned the fact that he didn't recall going to sleep, but miraculously ended up in his bed every morning anyway. He didn't think twice about the cold, the shift in the ambience, or the soft whispers that seemed to breathe from his very walls.

He realized, as his head healed, and he still wandered around the house in a blanket and his pajamas, that something was terribly wrong.

"Armin," Jean said one afternoon. "I think you're depressed."

Armin glanced up from the book he'd… appropriated… from Mikasa about Sina, who had been some lady who'd fancied herself a bit of a sorceress of sorts. She mostly just told stories about magic being good and bad, and sometimes the bad was necessary to bring out the good. He was too unfocused to even understand half the stories, which was a testament to how scrambled his brain was from the fall.

"That's very insightful," Armin replied, returning his gaze to a parable about "The Practical Girl". "Although, if you don't have a PhD in psychology, I'm disinclined to believe you."

"I took psychology!" Jean objected.

"As an elective," Armin reminded, "first year. You're not even remotely qualified. Also, I'm not depressed, Jean. Just concussed."

"Okay, whatever." Jean pointed at him. "You're fucking wrecked. Like, bad."

"Bad."

"Yeah!"

Armin closed his book, and he looked up at Jean with tired eyes. "I don't think I'm depressed," he said distantly. "But if I am, it's not your job to tell me so. You're here to help me find Eren."

"I'm here because I'm your friend," Jean argued.

"And as my friend," Armin said, rising to his feet and brushing past him, "you'll help me find out what happened to Eren, and why no one in this town has a clue where he went or why."

Jean opened his mouth to object, but before he could there was a very loud crashing sound from down below, and Armin felt his hair stand on end. They glanced at each other, and simultaneously they jumped to their feet. Armin discarded his book, rushing across the living room and to the front door, his bare feet skidding across the floor as he latched onto the doorknob, flinging the door open. Jean went first, hurrying down the steps two at a time while Armin's injured toes forced him to go slower.

When Armin got to the bottom of the steps, the first thing he noticed was the motorcycle parked outside the garage. He stood, wondering if his heart had suddenly punched out of his chest, or if the hollows of his chest rung with an old ache where his heart should've been.

 _No_ , he thought wildly, standing with white knuckles against the railing, his breath caught inside his throat as he let these new developments sink in.  _No, no, no_.

Armin was little— a skinny boy with little height to him, a slender frame and a girlish face— and he knew he'd never be intimidating in a traditional sense. But in that moment he wished very dearly to be the size of Reiner— to be someone bulky and fearsome, someone who  _looked_  like they could kill you with a glance.

It wouldn't help to wish for things like that, but he hadn't a clue how to mend this situation.

Another crash sounded from within the garage, and with resignation Armin started toward it. His feet dragged heavily across the wet pavement. The air was warm, and the day was muggy. The sky was gray and the humidity stewed around him.

He stopped behind Jean, watching with wide eyes as Mikasa slid across the concrete floor of the garage, her body curled up on impact to minimize the damage done to her. She looked disheveled, her hair out of its messy ponytail and slick against her cheeks, like wild feathers molting against her skin. She looked up at them, her dark eyes furious— one was swelling up already, he saw, for the inside was lined with red and the outside was turning faintly mauve.

"What the fuck?" Jean snarled, dropping to his knee beside Mikasa. Armin said nothing, and he merely shrunk under the steely gaze of the man who had appeared inside the garage. He was running his hands over the open hood of an old convertible, his lips thin and his demeanor chilly. There was a painfully large dent in the door of the car, and a plethora of tools littering the concrete.

"You've gotten slow," the man drawled.

Mikasa raised her head. She shrugged off Jean's hand, spitting a gooey glob of phlegm and blood onto the floor. He could see the unparalleled rage inside her stormy eyes, the tremulous fury that seemed to shake her to the very core.

"Mikasa," Armin said.

She did not hear him.

"Get out!" she spat, lurching to her feet and diving at him. Armin buckled when she was caught by the arm and swung into the wall, in spite of the fact that she had dodged the first attack that had headed her way. Armin listened to it, the soft snap of her body as it collapsed in a pile of tires. She blinked one eye rapidly, her breathing heavy and her limbs awkward and twisted.

Once, when Armin had been younger, he'd had the misfortune of catching Kenny Ackerman in a bad mood.

" _You've never been beaten a day in your life_ ," the man had sneered.

Back then, just as he was now, his legs had locked and his body had frozen up and his breath had caught in his throat, and he hadn't a clue what to say or do. He felt so weak.

Armin could feel something trickling down his spine. It was such a faint feeling, but it felt too heavy to be his imagination, and he thought for a moment it was blood, thick and hot, but the sensation was icy and it sent shocks of shivers shuddering through him.

Everything in him was electrified.

Everything in him was bursting apart.

A voice was trickling inside his brain.

 _Kill him. Rip him to shreds. Destroy that bastard_.

Armin felt something pressing to his back, and a rhythm was playing in his heart, skin splitting apart and water rushing through his ears and screams playing like a skipping record.

"You haven't been answering my calls," Kenny said, standing over Mikasa's twisted body, looking impassive and bored. "Thought I'd check up on you. Make sure you didn't kill yourself."

"Thank you," she snapped, blood wetting her lips and caking her words, "for your  _concern_."

"Well if I'd known you were just fucking around," Kenny said, waving offhandedly at both Armin and Jean, "maybe I wouldn't have bothered."

"Get out!" Mikasa cried once more, jumping to her feet, not even wobbling as she backhanded him. He actually stumbled, and Armin felt the tension, felt the cold air freeze upon his skin, and felt something dig into his spine. Like bits of broken glass, or cold, jagged nails.

Mikasa kicked Kenny backwards into the convertible, and before she could attack again, he had her by the arm.

"No!" Armin gasped, stumbling forward as Mikasa was twisted around, her elbow in Kenny's grasp. Both pairs of gray eyes moved to Armin's face. Kenny's were void of any sort of emotion, while Mikasa's were frantic and pained and desperately fearful. Armin knew it was not because she was being beaten to shit, but because he'd taken all of Kenny Ackerman's attention and placed it on himself.

 _Cut him. Beat him. Make him feel it all_.

Armin's fingers twitched. He could not win against Kenny Ackerman— he could not even entertain the thought. He was scared, and he was close to tears, but he stood and stared the man down, feeling his muscles lock up once more as his lips trembled and his skin crawled.

"Armin," Mikasa hissed. "Stay out of this."

_No way!_

Armin buckled once more as his legs moved hopelessly forward.

"No way!" He was shaking very badly. But he felt a sudden, inexplicable boldness creep upon him, and suddenly swallow him whole. He lifted his chin to Kenny, and he snarled, "You  _bastard_ — you think you have any right to even speak to Mikasa? You're lucky Dr. Jaeger never reported you! Back the fuck off!"

Mikasa looked alarmed, and Armin didn't even want to look at Jean to see what he looked like. He was thriving on adrenaline, his breath short and his body shaking, but he knew, he knew, he knew he was right, and he'd scream these words over and over and over until they split the ground and filled the river and sank into the earth, rocking it until it quaked.

Kenny Ackerman laughed.

He threw his head back, and he fucking laughed.

Armin flushed, but he stood his ground. He could not back down, and he wasn't certain if it was his own determination or if it was something hostile crawling inside him, a need to prove himself, a terrible, desperate, clinging need.

"Looks like someone grew a spine," Kenny said coldly, shooting Armin a quick look. He glanced him once over, and Armin felt his muscles freeze up once more, and his skin prickled with discomfort. "Or maybe you just borrowed one."

 _Make him pay,_  a guttural little voice slithered through Armin's brain, bleeding through the cracks and crags in his throbbing skull.

"Oh, don't get me wrong," Armin said, his words merely faint punctuated breaths, "I'm still terrified of you. But I'm not a gutless little kid who you can smack aside. I'll make you regret hurting Mikasa. I'll make you pay for it."

_Make him fucking pay._

While Kenny Ackerman was preoccupied with what could only be thoughts of ripping up the flesh that covered Armin's spine, Mikasa slammed her boot into his gut and then snapped her leg up, her heel colliding with his jaw. She tore her arm from his grasp as he was thrown backwards, and she scooped a random tool from the floor, some wrench or another that she used to whack Kenny across the face.

It left a long, angry red line across the man's sunken cheek.

" _Leave_ ," Mikasa snarled. She lowered the wrench, and then pressed it to the man's throat, her one eye swollen shut and her other eye ablaze with all her fury and all her disgust.

Blood trickled down Kenny's pasty cheek, and he shot her a lopsided grin.

"You're just like him," he chuckled, a short, pained sound. To Armin's immense discomfort, he managed to pat Mikasa's cheek before ducking another swing, and sauntering like a fucking fool out of the garage, past Armin and Jean and into the muggy daylight.

Jean ran to watch the motorcycle leave, and Armin listened to it rev up. The moment the sound of it was drowned out into the distance, he witnessed Mikasa crumple. For the first time in a very long time, Mikasa folded in on herself, and she dropped to her knees, her wrench clattering from her hands.

She was breathing very loudly.

"Mikasa…?"

Armin drifted to her side, dropping down and rubbing reassuring circles into her back. She was not crying, not yet, but he saw the tears glistening in her eyes, and he heard her sobbing in spite of the absence of them. He closed his eyes, and he leaned his face into her hair, hugging her tight as she took deep gulps of breaths, staving off what Armin could only imagine was a panic attack.

He was surprised he wasn't reacting the same, but perhaps it was better this way.

Mikasa didn't often succumb to her absolute and undeniable fear of Kenny Ackerman, but when she did, she had difficulty reawakening from her slump of terror and despair. The last time this had happened, Eren had still been around. Now, though, Armin was all alone, and she was shaking so badly, and so was he, and he was so scared too, so how could either of them be anything but blubbery messes?

Armin missed Eren.

Eren would know what to do.

Instinctively, Armin grasped Mikasa's cheeks. One was badly bruised, her cheekbone reddened and bloated.

"Hey," he whispered to her, tears thickening his voice. He was smiling through them, and that seemed to surprise her. "Close up for today… okay?"

She stared at him, her one visible eye searching his face frantically, glassily. And then, vacantly, she nodded. Her gaze had landed, her mouth parted and her body relaxing in his arms.

"Okay," she croaked.

She was staring behind him.

Armin felt a great pressure release him, relief washing over him as he realized that they were free of Kenny Ackerman, at least for a bit. He smiled into Mikasa's fluffy black hair, and in response she rubbed his head.

"I love you," she whispered.

"Yeah," he whispered back, sniffling and smiling, "I love you too."

She wrapped her arms around him tighter. She hugged him, and his bones hurt, his very skeleton bending beneath her grasp.

"No matter what happens," she mumbled, her lips very close to his ear, her breath hot against his neck, "no matter what, I need you to promise me something."

"Of course." He wanted to pull back, to look her in the face, but she was trembling too badly, and he felt her tears against his throat. Her cheek was resting on his shoulder, her eyelashes catching in his hair.

She was very quiet, and he wondered if she was having trouble speaking. He wondered what she was thinking. Then without warning she pulled back, and she wiped at her cheeks hastily.

"Promise me," she said in a weary voice, "that you'll never change."

_How on earth can I promise that?_

He sat on the concrete floor, warmth somewhat returning to his achy muscles. He stared into her face, swollen and discolored, bruised and battered, and he nodded firmly.

"Okay," he said. "I'll try my best."

She did not smile, nor did her expression really change, but he sensed her contentment in the way that her body seemed to slump into his, and she hugged him as though her life would slip from between his stubby, bandaged fingers. He closed his eyes, and he listed to her breathing.

After that, Armin became alert again. He wasn't sure what had happened to him previous to the encounter with Kenny Ackerman, but it was as though something had snapped him back into place, and he felt rejuvenated, liked someone had poured ice cold water over his head. Perhaps he'd jumped into Titan's Maw again without even realizing it.

That's what it felt like, at least.

Jean was watching him very closely, and Armin realized he was doing that thing where he monitored Armin's every movement to be sure he was, like, functioning normally. He was such an unbearable asshole, but he was a  _caring_  unbearable asshole. Also, Armin couldn't pretend like he wouldn't do the same if the situations were swapped.

First thing he did as a reawakened adult was give the file back to Annie.

"You look okay," she noted when she met him at that café he'd meant to meet her at a week prior.

"Just okay?" he asked, his eyebrows rising. "Oh…"

"You look good, I guess," she blurted, her brow furrowing in bemusement. He wanted to laugh, but he felt like it might be too cruel.

He smiled at her. "I was just teasing you," he said, holding out the file. "I look like shit."

"No," she said, taking the folder. "You've looked a lot worse."

"You're just really building up my self esteem here, Annie."

She drummed her fingers against the folder, looking as bored as she normally did. Armin sometimes wondered if her what appeared to be disinterest was really just a dull sadness that was perpetually rooted in her features. He wondered, and he wished. He wished they were both different types of people. That they weren't both so painfully shy, and so painfully, obviously terrible. Especially to each other.

"Can I ask," Annie said slowly, "what you've found out?"

Found out?

Well, honestly…

"Nothing," Armin said, rubbing his forehead and feeling beneath his bangs the rough bump and the scab that had formed over it. "Not yet, anyway. I'm still looking into it, but my… injury… that just threw me way off. I don't even know where to begin again."

"Try his parents," Annie said.

"I don't think they'd be happy to see me," he sighed. "Last time…"

"Yeah, I remember." Annie eyed him, her piercing gaze enough to make any sane man squirm. Armin wondered why he liked her so much. "What if I came with you?"

Armin actually did have to consider that. The last time he'd seen the Jaegers, it had been… an awkward situation at best. He didn't particularly want to reopen old wounds, and he couldn't imagine the Jaegers knew anything he didn't already know. But then again, it'd be wrong to rule them out completely.

"Maybe we can do that," Armin said. He hadn't intended on fully initiating Annie into his investigation, but considering she'd risked her job for him, he felt obligated. "I want to gather more evidence first. I just…" He sighed. "I don't understand how he could've just disappeared. Out of nowhere."

She stared at him. And she shrugged.

"Sometimes people just…" She glanced up at the ceiling, and he could see the circles under her eyes, the lines and lines that indicated she slept just as little as Armin did. "Sometimes people just leave and don't come back. It's part of life, Armin."

"Not without a trace," he said. "And not Eren. Never Eren."

Jean followed Armin with a camera when he left the apartment sometimes, and more often than not filmed him pouring over the file Annie had given him. What Armin had figured out is that Eren had left his house at around eleven the night he'd disappeared, and considering he'd appeared at Armin's window at around three, it gave Armin a good timeframe. It had to have been between three and sunrise, so three and about six in the morning.

Three and six in the morning. Literally anything could have happened.

"This is frustrating," Armin mumbling one night when Jean brought him tea. Armin was sitting at the living room table, gnawing restlessly at the cap of his highlighter, and wriggling it between his teeth when Jean set up his camera and sat down. "Stop filming me."

"Look, it's interesting okay?" Jean smirked. "Don't even worry about it, I'm gonna chop most of the cram stuff. I just need to make sure I get everything on camera."

Armin was going through the list of witnesses. He was at the top, unfortunately. One of the reasons why the Jaegers really didn't want to talk to him anymore. No matter their kindness, they held a certain resentment toward him for being the last person to actually see Eren. Mikasa was also on the list, and, strangely enough, Christa Lenz. Less commonly known by her real name, Historia Reiss.

Armin had actually spoken to Historia about this way back when the disappearance had first happened. She'd been working a late shift at the local antique store, and had been about to close up when Eren had come in for something. Armin didn't really remember the rest, but her alibi held up because she'd slept at Ymir's that night, and Ymir's the security cameras at Ymir's building confirmed that.

Not that Historia Reiss had the physical attributes to actually harm Eren Jaeger, but still. It was apparent that the cops had at least begun to dig deeper into the possibility of a crime.

Clearly they had not gotten very far.

He highlighted Historia's name to remind himself to go talk to her about Eren.

"Who's Christa Lenz?" Jean asked, leaning over his shoulder.

"Oh." Armin sometimes forgot that Jean wasn't totally familiar with the group of friends Armin had had in high school. "A friend of mine. She also saw Eren the night he disappeared."

"You, Mikasa, this Christa girl…" Jean peered at the papers, and he snorted. "Don't you have any reliable witnesses?"

"Am I not reliable?" Armin asked, taking mock offense by pressing his hand to his chest.

Jean rolled his eyes. "You're like," Jean said, indicating with his thumb and forefinger, "marginally reliable on some particular things. Okay?"

"Well if that's so," Armin said, snapping his highlighter shut, "then you're not even remotely reliable. Not at all, really."

"Now you're just being mean."

"You started it."

Jean opened his mouth to retort, when he paused. Armin took a sip of his tea, noting that Jean could not make tea to save his life, but it had been a kind gesture, so Armin drank it anyway. There was too much cream and not enough honey, giving the tea a flavorless, but still very bitter taste. Icky.

Armin perked up.

"You heard it too," Jean whispered.

Armin glanced at him.

For a moment— just a little moment, a flicker of a second— Armin had thought he'd heard the soft, muffled cacophony of distant wailing.

Not a siren, not a whistle.

A child sobbing.

A child.

But he did not hear that any longer, and it was unlikely it had really been anything. He rubbed his head, and he shrugged.

"Maybe Mikasa's watching something on her computer," he offered.

"Maybe…" Jean didn't look so sure.

Armin took a great gulp of his tea, and it scalded the roof of his mouth. It tasted foul, but he needed it desperately, and his eyes were burning a bit from exhaustion. He'd never say it, though.

"It seems like," he said, chewing his bottom lip, "Christa saw Eren first… probably at about eleven or eleven thirty— the antique shop she works for closes at eleven, but she probably let him in later because she knew him. Then it's pretty up in the air what he did, but between… probably about midnight and three, he visited Mikasa."

"Where's the antique shop?" Jean asked. He whispered it, truly, and Armin had to wonder why.

"Center of town," he replied. "By the bridge, but farther down, like… away from the river."

"So Eren presumably walked there…" Jean leaned back in his seat, frowning at the ceiling. "Then here… then to your house, wherever that was… but that couldn't take the amount of time he was gone for, right?"

"No." Armin glanced over the list of witnesses. Carla and Grisha Jaeger. Historia. Him. Mikasa. No one else was on this list, and that was immensely disconcerting. There had to be some other people who'd seen Eren that night, considering the time frame. "The problem is that we still have no idea what Eren wanted me to see in the woods. Not even Mikasa knows, and she was there."

"Yeah…" Jean's voice was barely over a whisper. "About that…"

Armin had expected this. Jean didn't know Mikasa like Armin did, and so it was natural that he suspected her, even in spite of how clearly he was attracted to her. Even Armin had his doubts about how much of the truth Mikasa was telling. He couldn't imagine she knew what had happened to Eren, because of all people she'd be the one to tell, but he sensed she was leaving out key details. Perhaps to shelter him.

"I'm working on it," Armin sighed, gathering up his papers. "I know what it sounds like, but I definitely don't think Mikasa is totally lying when she says she doesn't know what happened. The woods are hard to navigate even in the daytime— they're downright dangerous at night. Titan's Maw literally drops off from a cliff at the outskirts of the woods. Honestly, anything could've happened."

"True," Jean murmured, raising his eyes to Armin's. They were somber. " _Anything_  could've."

Armin's jaw tightened, and he shook his head furiously. "Stop that," he hissed. "I'm not going to suspect Mikasa of anything until I've got more facts."

"The fact that she lied to the police is suspicious enough."

"Of course she lied," he said stiffly, "who wouldn't lie? She was scared, and who knows what happened that night— you know you'd have lied too if say, Marco had gone missing, and you'd blacked out in the woods, and had to explain to the police that you'd just gone with him to keep an eye on him. Like, come on, Jean."

"Okay," Jean sighed, holding up his hands. "Okay, okay. Yeah, I guess I get what you're saying but still, you're awfully calm about the fact that she lied to you."

"I lie to her too," he said simply, blinking up at Jean. "It's really no big deal."

Jean looked at him rather strangely, and Armin wondered if he was the only one that felt that way.

"I think I'm gonna go to bed," Jean said slowly. He leaned over, clapping Armin's folder shut, leaving him feeling a little startled and disoriented. "You should too."

"I'm not tired," Armin objected.

"You're perpetually tired," Jean argued.

"I've never said that, not ever."

"Just go to sleep, man!"

And so Armin, without much of a choice, headed to his room. When he got there, he took note of the walls. Bare, thankfully, of fishhooks, but the damn painting was still up because Armin could not bring himself to take it down. He didn't have that kind of courage, and his curiosity was burning to tear it from the wall, but he understood the repercussions if he did decide to do so. Was he ready for that?

He considered going to his desk and continuing on well into the morning with his research, but he felt as though he'd analyzed every piece of evidence he had several times over. So he actually sat down on his bed, listening to the springs creak, and thinking about Eren, and how different his life would have been if Eren had not disappeared.

He lied down, imagining college years with Eren at his side, imagining the utter bullshit they could've gotten into, the wild ride from start to finish. Armin wondered if he would've pursued investigative journalism if Eren hadn't vanished from the face of the earth without a trace, and he wondered what field Eren would have gone into. Armin felt confident in the idea that he would have gone into a science.

Just as Armin was dozing off, he heard a soft little hiss in the darkness, the faint trailing of something sharp along the smooth surface of the wall beside Armin's ear. His eyes snapped open, but all he saw pale paint and darkness. The sound continued on in a steady pitch and a steady pace, something writhing against the other side of the wall and scratching furiously.

Armin shoved his pillow over his head, squeezed his eyes shut, and began to count down from one thousand in order to keep himself at least somewhat sane.

But the scratching continued.

_Scritch scratch scritch._

_Scritch. Scratch._

On and on for hours.

Armin was forced into trying to sleep with his headphones in just to drown out the frantic sound.

When morning broke, and sun pooled through his wind, splashing across his face while the twiddling little melody of piano strings being struck furious by tiny hammers, the sound of his thoughts shuddering in the dark with every  _scritch_  and  _scratch_  that smothered the air.

Percussion was strangling him.

He kicked the wall furiously as he leapt out of bed, dragging his hands down his face, shadow and dust swirling around him.

The little sound of nails dragging along the inside of his skull was making his skin crawl.

He felt as though he hadn't slept at all.

 _Scritch scratch scritch scratch_.

He squeezed his eyes, taking a deep breath and rationalizing.

There were probably numerous explanations for the sound— a small animal trapped within the crawlspace, or a tree branch rubbing against the roof. But even so, Armin's arms were covered with raised goose bumps, his pale hair starkly on end. The echoing of  _scritches_  and  _scratches_  were thudding like little fluttering notes inside his muddled brain.

Armin found himself staring at the painting again. What a terrible piece of artwork. Why this painting, anyway?

He pushed his hair from his eyes, whirling around this room a few times. It was definitely the biggest bedroom in the apartment.  _Is this Kenny's old room?_  Armin thought, sickened. He inhaled sharply through his nose, strode to the closet. He was going to find out.

Mikasa's father had been Jewish, so it would make sense if Kenny was as well. But somehow Armin doubted it. The man had never struck Armin as particularly pious. Armin saw the closet was something over an organized clutter— large coats and stacked boxes, too many for such a small space. Armin could tell Mikasa had done her best, but what she should have done was thrown all of it away.

Armin pulled out the first box, his muscles cramping, shuddering in protest as he set it down on the floor. He ripped it open.

Inside, Armin was a little surprised to find a stack of books.

He picked one up, examining the cover closely. It was an old book, the leather bound cover peeling away. Armin ran his fingers over the gold inscription that was branded into its face.  _A Cult of Walls_ , the cover said. Armin flipped through the yellowed pages, and he saw that there was frantic, messy handwriting scrawled all across the margins and over the printed words, paint splashed over numerous pages, completely smeared over a few, and finally Armin came to the last page, which was carefully painted over in white.

Armin's fingers were shaky as he thumbed the final page, trying to make sense of the hasty script.

_Find me in blood_

_In soil so soaked_

_In the waves and the palisades_

_In the shadow and the light_

_Find me_

_**Below** _

A shudder ran through him, his heart clenching as he read these lines. Not because they were inherently scary. But because there was a distinct sound, coming from just behind him, of something rolling across hard wood.

Firstly, he was reminded of a marble drawing across a tabletop, slow and distinct. When he turned his head, he was able to see a wooden ball— about the size of Armin's fist— rolling, rolling, rolling, until finally it hit the dresser with a loud  _thump_  and was forced to halt.

"What the…?" Armin whispered, shutting the book and setting it aside. Where had this ball come from?

He retraced the path of it with his eyes, and realized, with a terrible twist of his gut, that it had come from beneath his bed.

 _Nope_ , he thought, jumping to his feet in blind terror.  _Nope!_

He took a deep breath, glancing at the window, watching the sun creep in and flutter through the dimness. His initial instinct was to get the fuck out of this room as soon as possible. The air was thick and chilled, ice chips clogging his ears and eyes and throat. But he was so curious, and so confused— there was always an explanation, right?

Armin wandered to the little wooden ball, and he plucked it up. How could it have rolled from beneath the bed by itself?

_Didn't Sasha say this place was cursed?_

He considered it as he rolled the ball in his palm. It was old and faded, once painted red but now a splotchy brown, with deep gouges marring its sad, once smooth surface.

Armin had seen his fair share of horror movies.

In his case, he was fucked sideways in terms of his life expectancy rate. At this point, he'd already been locked in a dark, damp cellar in the middle of the woods alone, simply because he was curious. That alone should've been a red flag as to how hopeless he'd be in a horror narrative.

However, he hadn't been brutally murdered, so that was good.

Also, he was as virginal as he could get, so as long as there weren't like, virgin sacrifices or anything, he had a good chance there.

Of course, Armin had a mind for logic, so he didn't really  _want_  to believe in any of this spooky shit. He'd need some stone cold evidence.

It occurred to him that it could've been The Captain.

Armin knelt down, and he whistled lowly.

"Captain," he called tentatively.

If it was The Captain, that'd explain the scratching for sure. Armin whistled again, crawling closer to the bed, his nervousness pushed aside. He whistled softly, his whistle thin and tremulous, a cumbersome sound on the ridges of his lips. He rolled the ball back beneath his bed.

After about a minute of waiting, the ball did not return.

"Captain…?" Armin was at his wit's end with this one. He didn't dare look under the bed.

He shook his head furiously, deciding that if it was the dog, then whatever. If it wasn't, that'd be really weird and awkward, but it was actually really too early to deal with this bullshit.

Armin left the room, leaving the door open behind him just in case it really was the dog. He wandered into the hall, which was still very dark, and he walked forward with careful footing, squinting through the shadows and the pale shafts of sunlight pooling in from the living room.

In the silence, through Armin's open door, he heard the soft sliding of a wooden ball rolling across a wooden floor.

He walked faster.

When he saw The Captain snoozing on the living room couch, he merely stared at the dog for a good thirty seconds before pivoting back to his room.

He picked up the ball from the floor, and shot a glare at his bed.

"Okay," he said.

Okay.

He sat down with his back pressing to his dresser, and he rolled the ball back under his bed. Sunlight was glittering brightly now, filling the room and turning it a burning white.

The ball was rolled back to him. Without fail, it came slowly fumbling back to Armin's hand, pushed by some unknown force from beneath Armin's bed.

He felt terrified, to be sure.

Thrice more he rolled the ball, and thrice more it returned.

Finally Armin was too curious, too bewildered to even entertain his fear any longer. He crawled to his bed, stopping merely to tilt his head and peer under the space between the mattress and the floor. It was hardly much of a space at all, just a few centimeters that would make it snug for anyone of normal size. His cheek rested against the dusty floor, and he squinted into the darkness below his bed, his breath caught in his throat.

He didn't see anything.

Marginally terrified, but mostly frustrated, Armin decided to make sure he wasn't totally going insane. By reaching under the bed, the ball held tight in his fist.

He was waiting for something to rip his arm off, honestly.

The waiting was agonizing.

He jumped, a shriek spilling from his lips as he felt tiny, stubby nails dragging across his palm as the ball was snatched away. He skittered away from the bed, his breathing heavy and his heart hammering against his ribs in a frantic rhythm, percussion booming and blasting, a rise and fall of notes thudding in time with his pumping blood.

He looked down at his hand, holding his wrist tightly in his fist, but when he stared at his palm, there were no scratches, no markings, not even a splinter to suggest the ball had really been there, and it had really been taken by some tiny creature living beneath his bed.

 _This place is haunted_ , Armin realized with heavy breaths and a short, horrified laugh.

So much for logic.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, i just wanted to link you to this [super fucking awesome cover](http://femwolflynn.tumblr.com/post/99498712872/art-for-asexualsuzuya-regarding-her-fantastic-and) that femwolflynn drew for this fic and its [ playlist](http://8tracks.com/aradian-nights/echo-answers).

**i knew you were coming**

As an information broker, Armin had often found himself in situations when he'd been younger that little kids didn't often find themselves in. For instance, he'd once been cornered by a motorcycle gang, only for the leader to ask for Armin to dig up some dirt on a guy who'd apparently mistreated his dog. Armin had obliged, mostly out of fear, but they gang had actually come back after doing whatever they done with the information, and offered Armin a reward. None of them had cash, but they'd been more than willing to offer their services elsewhere.

That was how Armin had met Reiner Braun, Bertholdt Hoover, and Annie Leonhardt.

Armin had honestly been about twelve, while Reiner and Bertholdt had been about fifteen, and Annie had been about thirteen or fourteen. Armin remembered the sight of Annie riding on the back of Bertholdt's motorcycle, looking painfully small and incredibly irritable in her tiny little helmet.

"Oh, that's not necessary," Armin had blurted, flushing a deep red color as he stared at his shoes. He never knew how to deal with people, especially kind strangers. "It really wasn't difficult to track him down, and he never clears his internet history, so it was kinda just a virus and a memory stick away."

"No, really," Reiner had said eagerly while Annie— tiny, vicious-looking Annie— picked at her nails with a bored expression. "There's gotta be something we can do for you, man."

"Anyone could have done it," Armin had argued.

"Not everyone is as obscure as you are," Annie had said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "You'll never get caught hacking because you're so low priority. You're a total nobody."

"Uh, thanks," he'd said, feeling his self-esteem sinking like a brick to the ocean floor, mud and sand and crushed up bones coughing up inside his chest. "I guess. How'd you guys even hear of me?"

"Oh!" Reiner had grinned, leaning over the handlebars of the bike he no longer owned for various reasons, but mostly because he'd totaled it. "Well we know Ymir, who knows Christa…"

"Who knows Eren," Annie said, "who knows you."

"Eren told you I'd hack for you?" Armin had squeaked.

"He said the guy who beat the dog deserves whatever hell we decided to put him through," Reiner laughed. "What a guy!"

"Yeah…" Armin smiled wanly, though he mentally noted to have a little chat with Eren about advertizing Armin's hacking abilities. "What a guy…"

After that, Armin had gotten into the business of actually dealing information. It had been a weird few years. Armin dealt cases he'd never dreamed of dealing, and he did investigations that would later help him cruise through his college courses. He was lucky he had past experience in these types of things, but he had to be careful nowadays, because most of what he did as a teenager was not exactly legal.

At the age of thirteen, Armin was legitimately summoned to speak with the Prime Minister. Yeah, that one had scared him just about shitless.

"Is he even allowed to do that…?" Eren had asked, squinting suspiciously at the letter. Mikasa sat quietly across from them, tearing off a chunk of her sandwich and chewing mechanically. They'd been in school at the time of this debacle. Christa Lenz sat at Armin's side, Connie beside her, and Sasha across from him. This was their lunch arrangement. Ymir, Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie all went to different schools, and were in different grades besides.

"He's the Prime Minister," Armin had murmured. "I expect he can do whatever he'd like."

"I wouldn't say that…" Christa had muttered. Back then, Armin hadn't known her real name. No one did, really, not even now. It was a secret that was kind of known, but mostly ignored. No one wanted to acknowledge her bastard status.

"Well," Connie chirped, "I'd say you're pretty fucked, Armin!"

"Thanks…" Armin sunk low into his seat. "I don't think I like being the smart one anymore… Mikasa, let's trade. I'd rather get in trouble for street racing than hacking."

"Maybe it's not even about the hacking," she'd offered.

It hadn't made him feel any better.

What Rod Reiss had wanted from Armin was something he still didn't fully understand.

Armin recalled the distant, awkward feeling of sitting across from the elderly man, sinking further and further into the velvet folds of his chair, and wanting to burst into tears because his terror had become too much to properly bear. The man was small and round, his eyes watery and his lips thin. He stared at Armin with a tight jaw and a furrowed brow.

"So, Mr. Arlert…" He cleared his throat. "I've heard… many interesting things about you."

"I can't imagine why, sir…" he'd murmured. "I'm mostly very average."

"That's not what your aptitude tests say." Reiss held up a thick manila envelope, and Armin stared at it helplessly. "You've actually caught the attention of some prestigious schools all across the country— particularly in the sciences, maths, and linguistics."

"I beg your pardon, sir," Armin had said hesitantly, "but I honestly cannot bring myself to believe you called for me without warning because you want to talk about my test scores. You run this country. You don't have time for that, um… excuse my language, but for that bullshit."

Rod Reiss looked exceptionally surprised, which had caused Armin to flush even more. But the man quickly regained composure, and he nodded.

"Well, Armin, as you might have guessed," Reiss said, "I've heard of you through the grapevine."

Armin swallowed a snappish comment on how unbearably surprising  _that_  was.

"Um…" He'd shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "May I ask how?"

"Is that important?"

_Yes?_  He'd blinked rapidly, his mouth dropping open.  _Yes, yes, yes!_ Armin had been reeling with frustration and fury, but he'd kept himself calm, his eyes wide and his mouth pressed firmly shut, and he shook his head furiously.

"No, sir."

Reiss merely nodded. "So since I'm aware of your… talents, and you now know I'm aware," he said, "let us strike a deal."

Armin had sat with his hands folded in his lap, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Sir?" he whispered.

"I want you," Reiss said, laying his hands flat on his desk, "to find a girl for me."

"Um…" Now, Armin had been thirteen and naïve, but he knew a thing or two about politicians, and he was utterly distraught. "I don't do those kinds of things…"

"You misunderstand me," Reiss sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I want a specific girl. A little girl, perhaps your own age, who lives in Shiganshina. Can you do that?"

"I'd… need a lot more information than that," Armin had said, glancing away from the man's face. "And… incentive to actually give you said info. Sir."

"Done." Reiss tossed a file at Armin, and he'd watched it slide across the desk and nearly tip over the edge. He quickly grabbed it, staring vacantly at the man until he nodded, and Armin opened the folder tentatively. Inside was a photograph paper clipped to a birth certificate.

Historia Reiss. Born January 15th.

Armin glanced at the photograph, and he nearly snapped the file shut.

Well, firstly, Armin had known Christa Lenz for years. He'd known her longer than Mikasa, even. She'd moved to Shiganshina when she'd been six or seven, and had been a very lonely child. Eren didn't really like her, so Armin had often steered clear, but he remembered pitying her. She was a much happier girl now, full of life and laughter and hope.

Secondly, he'd always figured Christa hid behind a little porcelain mask that could crack at any given moment if prodded to harshly.

He just never imagined she'd be hiding something to this extent.

Now he was faced with a dilemma.

"Who's this?" he asked faintly. He did not look at Reiss, but he could practically hear his eyebrow raising.

"My daughter," Reiss said. "My little girl. She… moved, you might say. When she was just a little thing, and I miss her very dearly. If you can return her to me, you'll be rewarded handsomely."

Armin stared at the file, and made a show of flipping through it while in actuality he was memorizing the words on every page. "I don't understand," he said. "If she was kidnapped, why come to me? Why not involve the police?"

"She wasn't kidnapped," Reiss said. "As I said, she moved. It's only just come to my attention that she's in Shiganshina. You should understand, Mr. Arlert, that this— this thing between you and I— should be kept secret. Yes?"

Armin nodded furiously. "Of course," he gasped, already imagining how he'd explain this to Mikasa and Eren, "but I just don't understand what you're asking to me to do. If you already know where this girl is, why don't you just go to her yourself?"

"I'm a very busy man, clearly."

"Yes," Armin agreed. "Yes, of course you are. But honestly, the information you've given me is not enough for me to find some random girl in Shiganshina, and without a real explanation from you, I can't say I  _want_  to find her." Armin clapped the file shut. "Was this all you wanted, sir?"

Armin could tell that Reiss was livid, and he didn't blame him. He was pretty aware of how much of a little shit he could be when he tried, and this was one of those times were he felt like he could actually get in serious trouble because of it.

Luckily for him, the door opened behind them. Armin twisted in his seat to see who'd walked in.

"Sir, you have a call on line one from Mr. Ack—" A very young blond man stood in the door way, his blue eyes salient and his face oddly precise and chiseled. He was very well dressed, and Armin assumed that he was a secretary of some sort. He looked a little bemused at the sight of Armin, and so he presumed that Rod Reiss had not really scheduled a meeting with Armin, but instead done this all in secret. In order to get to Christa, who was definitely hiding from him for a reason. "Oh. I didn't realize you were in a meeting."

"We've finished, I think," Reiss said.

Armin jumped to his feet, and he nodded quickly to Reiss, hopelessly relieved that he could leave. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you more, sir," he said, putting on an earnest smile. "You should really ask a professional, though, and not just run to the first clever thirteen year old with a laptop you can find."

And with that, Armin left the room, feeling vaguely accomplished, but mostly terrified. He passed by the blond man, who watched him with a piercing stare, and for a moment Armin felt as though he might never be allowed to leave this god awful place, that they'd arrest him on the spot for hacking and for just being downright disrespectful, and he tripped right over himself and fell flat on his face in front of the man.

"Oh!"

Armin felt like crying, but he was too embarrassed to move, so instead he cupped his face, blinking the stars from his eyes as a large hand landed on his back. His face was throbbing, the overwhelming taste of blood crashing like waves upon his tongue and teeth, spitting and roaring and hissing in his head. It ran hot and sticky in slim, dark trails down from his nostrils, and he could not see a blessed thing as the man propped him upright.

"Are you okay? Excuse me…?" He felt a hand on his cheek, and he turned his head away, sniffling and instantly regretting it as blood shot up through his nostril and mixed with the phlegm at the back of his throat. He gagged. "Oh. Oh my. Sir, may I bring this boy to the bathroom to—"

"Yes, yes, fine." Reiss sounded irritated beyond belief. "Just go."

Armin had found himself being dragged to a bathroom, the entire area he'd been in so painfully foreign that at that point he was just used to being alienated and scared out of his wits. He regained his sight, only to be mildly terrified of this strange man who'd pulled him into a bathroom and propped him up on a toilet seat. He knelt down before Armin, examining his face closely. Armin had held his breath and his tears.

"That was a pretty nasty fall," said the man, rolling a wad of toilet paper around his knuckles. "Ah, my apologies… my name is Erwin Smith. I'm Mr. Reiss's current secretary."

_I was right_ , Armin had thought triumphantly as the man carefully mopped up the blood from his mouth and nose and chin.

"Armin," he mumbled, his voice thick and slurred from blood and a biting pain.

"Armin," Erwin repeated, smiling genially. "You seem like such a nice boy. What on earth did Reiss want with you?"

Armin had actually groaned, rubbing the rather large goose egg that had formed on his forehead, a purplish bump that had taken weeks to go away, and he'd merely shaken his head.

"Honestly, Mr. Smith," he'd sighed, "I just don't know. He didn't really try to explain what he wanted me to do, so I kinda… just declined. Can I even do that? Am I gonna go to jail?"

Erwin stared at him with a somewhat bewildered gaze. "Of course not." The man held the paper to Armin's nose to staunch the rest of the blood, which he was very thankful for. His entire head felt like a series of pressure points being hit with one hammer after another after another after another in quick, vicious successions. "Armin, you should have never been called here in the first place. How old are you?"

"Um…" He had to actually think about it. "Thirteen?"

Erwin nodded, though he looked vaguely confused. "That's very young," he said. Armin had flushed. "Where are you from?"

"Shiganshina…" Armin held the toilet paper to his nose, his voice muffled. "It's right outside of Trost, um— a tiny town with—"

"I know where it is," Erwin interrupted. For the first time, he looked actually very frightening, his face shadowed and his piercing blue eyes flashing. "I… actually used to live there."

"Oh." Armin didn't know what else to say. "Well, I like it."

"It's a very nice place to grow up…"

"Yes."

They'd made some meager small talk after that, but inevitably Armin got a call from his grandfather and was forced to leave without actually broaching the topic of why Erwin Smith seemed to hate Shiganshina so much. And Armin was certain this man hated it.

He'd never seen Erwin Smith nor Rod Reiss again, and honestly, he still had no idea what the meeting had actually been about.

But in the end, he'd never told Eren and Mikasa about Reiss or Historia. He'd kept that secret to himself, and sometimes he felt like maybe he really should not have.

After all, nothing about it made sense.

* * *

"Um," he said at breakfast. He'd been sitting at the kitchen table for a good hour, staring at the dust gathering on the surface while scratching at his knuckles. "So… this apartment is haunted."

Mikasa had paused outright in pouring her coffee to stare at him, while Jean rested his cheek on his fist tiredly, and nodded.

"Sounds about right," he said.

Armin sat, a little astonished. "You believe me?" Armin asked in disbelief. "Just like that?"

"Dude, did you  _hear_  that scratching last night?" Jean gave a visible shudder, and he grimaced. "That shit was demonic."

"Scratching?" Mikasa asked absently, sitting down. "Are you sure it wasn't The Captain?"

"It was coming from  _inside_  the walls!" Jean threw his hands up in distress. He threw Armin a desperate look. "You can vouch for me, right? It came from inside the walls!"

"Yeah," Armin said, glancing sheepishly at Mikasa. "It came from inside the walls."

Mikasa seemed to consider this as she rested the coffee pot down. She looked a little disheveled, her oversized tee shirt slipping from one shoulder and her hair knotted up and around her face. She had dark circles under her eyes, and Armin frowned at her. She looked as though she'd slept as little as Armin had.

"Weird," she said, rising to her feet once more and decidedly chugging the scalding coffee from the pot. Jean and Armin watched in vague shock as she set the pot back on the stove and wandered from the room.

"Is she okay?" Jean blurted.

Armin leaned back. It wasn't too strange, not for Mikasa, but Armin glanced at the mug she'd left on the table, half filled and steaming.

"I don't know," he whispered.

Armin did not want to go into his room to get changed, and he admitted as much to Jean, who actually gave him a sharp look of indignation.

"Dude," he said, "this place isn't  _that_  scary."

Armin didn't know how to explain the strange phenomena that had occurred that morning with the ball and the bed, so instead he sucked it up and laughed sheepishly, as though he were not utterly terrified. He went to his room, feeling a little foolish as he tip toed across the cool wooden floor, gathering up his clothes and skirting around his bed. He ended up getting dressed in the bathroom out of paranoia.

He and Jean had agreed on one thing. Today, they would approach Historia Reiss.

They left the house early enough, tossing ideas back and forth on where to start. Armin wasn't sure on Historia's schedule, but they figured they could check the antique store by the afternoon. Until then, the wandered a bit around town, which Armin sort of dreaded, because he saw familiar faces of old schoolmates wherever he went. Connie and Sasha were likely at school, or sleeping, or both.

Armin was reminded that he had not seen Reiner or Bertholdt since he'd returned home.

"So what do we consider "finished" for this investigation?" Jean asked, tearing at the top of a still hot muffin and tossing it into his mouth. "I mean, obviously we'll never close the case, but we can probably at least give a few decent theories."

"We'll end the investigation when I know what happened to Eren," Armin said firmly. "That's it."

Jean made a face, a twisted grimace that showed that he really did not care for Armin's reply. "You know that we're working with nothing, right?" Jean tilted his head. "Like, as in, we are fumbling in the dark here trying to find a dumb kid who went missing seven years ago!"

"Don't call Eren dumb," Armin snapped. Jean looked actually remorseful, and he swallowed thickly, nodded a slow little nod that proved just how careless he'd been. "And anyway, go home if you really don't care about finding out the truth."

Jean swore under his breath, and he picked up his pace to match the beat of Armin's feet against the pavement. "You know I didn't mean anything by it," he sighed. "I just… fuck, it's not like I knew the guy, okay? I'm sure he was a perfectly nice person."

"Actually," Armin admitted sheepishly, "I'm pretty sure you two would hate each other."

Jean blinked rapidly. He took a steaming chunk of muffin and tossed it in the air, catching it between his teeth. "Huh," he said.

Of course Armin understood how removed Jean was from the situation. Armin wished he could remove himself, considering how personal this investigation really was. If he didn't figure out what happened to Eren Jaeger that night, Armin felt as though he might truly go insane.

They made it to the antique store just as Historia was arriving, a heavy psychology book in her arms and a schoolbag over her shoulder. She held the door open for them without noticing Armin. He supposed it was because his face was significantly higher than her eyelevel now, and she just didn't bother to look up.

It was a quaint little store that was almost out of the way in terms of location, positioned near the end of the old narrow alleyway that held the loosened brick that Eren and Armin had once used to communicate. Armin glanced at the brick as he passed it, but he refrained from examining it. A sign hung from the mantel of the shop door, a hand painted relic that was half faded by time and weathered by nature. He found himself appreciating the place, in a nostalgic, sentimental sort of way.

"Good morning," Historia gasped, hurrying to the front desk and dropping her book and her bag. Armin watched her amusedly. She still did not recognize him. "Sorry, I just got out of class— if you need any help, just ask me."

Jean stared at her, and Armin could already hear him thinking,  _Wow, what a nice girl!_  And he supposed she was, on some level, but he was one of the few people who knew the difference between Christa Lenz and Historia Reiss, and it was truthfully a yawning chasm between polite and demure and utterly lost in self-loathing.

Well, truth be told, Armin could really identify with Historia Reiss.

"That's totally fine," Jean said, pulling out his camera. "Actually we wanted to ask you a few questions, if that's okay."

Armin had already wandered to a large bookcase, his eyes glittering with lust as he dragged his fingers across the old leather spines, cracks and creases thumping along the ridges of his fingertips. He turned his head backwards at Jean, stifling a laugh.

"Way too forward!" he gasped, dragging his thumb over a crude little carving of a face into the spine of one of the tomes. He pulled it from its place, peering at the rough little picture that seemed to have been drawn in with a penknife. He turned the book over to its cover, and the title hit him like a solid punch to the jaw.

_The Cult of Walls_.

Oh, not this thing again.

He tucked the book under his arm and tried not to think about it too hard. He failed. The likelihood of him coincidentally stumbling upon the same book twice in one day was unlikely at best, and he did not like the odds. He was rightfully creeped out.

"Um…" Historia sounded vaguely bemused, and possibly a little frustrated. "I'm sorry, but… who are you?"

"The name's Jean. I'm doing a documentary about a kid who went missing here a few years ago, you might've known him— Eren Jaeger?" Jean was purposefully testing Historia to gauge a reaction. Though Armin couldn't say he disapproved, he wished Jean wouldn't. He simply didn't have the tact for it.

Armin peeked out from behind the bookshelf and watched the tiny girl. Her expression had gone very blank, and she watched Jean with dead eyes.

"If you want to know about what happened to Eren," she said, "go to the police."

"Been there," Jean said. "They did a shit job investigating his disappearance. There was basically no information— except that you were one of the last people to see him. Care to share?"

She continued to stare, and Armin sensed her discomfort. She averted her gaze, her mouth opening and closing, and he could tell she was nervous. He decided to put her out of her misery, and stop Jean while he was ahead.

"Quit teasing her, Jean," Armin sighed, striding up to his side. Historia's eyes landed on him, and for a moment they lingered before they grew big and wide and glittery.

"Armin!" she cried, clapping her hands against the desk in shock. "Oh! Oh, gosh, I didn't even…" She smacked her forehead in irritation. "Ah! Stupid! I didn't even notice you here!"

"It's because of my dashing good looks, I suppose," Jean said dryly. Historia glanced at him, and Armin closed his eyes. "Wow. Chill, guys, it was a joke."

"I'm sorry to bother you, Christa," he said, carefully moving closer to the desk. "Especially during work. I would've texted you to come hang out with us, but honestly, I think you changed your number."

"I did," she said quietly, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. "I… kept getting really weird calls. So I changed my number, and… yeah." She stared down at the register, and she began to pick at the paint on her fingernails. "So… um, Eren?"

"Yeah." Armin nodded, resting the book on the Wall Cult down on the desk. "I'm investigating his disappearance. Not as fun as you might expect."

"I wouldn't think it'd be fun at all," she whispered. "Especially not for you…"

Armin didn't know how to reply. He'd been joking, but he didn't know to what extent, and she was absolutely right. None of this was fun. He wanted to tear his skin off every day, every hour, every minute, every single second and every single breath a chore because of the terrible, maddening doubts that crossed his mind consistently.

"It's really not that bad," he said, smiling at her wanly. She looked at him warily. "I mean, I went to school for this stuff, so I have to like it at least a little bit." He eyed her psychology book, and he pointed to it. "Hey, so how's that going?"

"I have a while to go before I can get my PhD," she said, smiling wanly back at him. "But I'm okay. Thank you for asking."

"Sorry for busting your ass," Jean said sheepishly. "I couldn't help it."

"It's okay."

No it wasn't. But Armin didn't say anything. He merely glanced at Jean, and wished he could feed it into his mind just how much of an ass he was. But he probably didn't need to, considering Jean was painfully self-aware.

"Do you want to exchange new numbers?" Armin asked Historia, pulling his phone from his pocket. She stared at him, and she nodded eagerly.

"Oh," she gasped. "Yes, of course!"

He couldn't tell if it was something she truly wanted, or if she was just being fucking polite. She put her number into his phone, and he did the same to hers while Jean stood awkwardly, an outsider all in all.

"So," Armin said, tucking his phone back into his pocket, "about Eren…"

Historia was a petite girl, Armin's age but appearing half of it, with a round face and round eyes and fluffy blonde hair that curled around her rosy cheeks. She was a child, perpetually, and she looked at him with sympathy. He could never tell if it was forced or not, which was a constant bother to him. He want to know how genuine she was. He certainly knew he was hardly the most genuine person when it came to things like this. Mikasa was flat out about if she cared about something or not.

Eren had always been genuine.

Armin wished he could be half the person Eren was.

"You want to know what happened that night," Historia clarified. Jean had his camera trained on her, and she glanced at it warily. "I told everything to the police, you know…"

"Yeah, well," Armin sighed, "clearly they weren't good at keeping track of things. There's literally almost zero info about Eren's disappearance. So can you go through what happened that night again for us? Please?" He gripped the old desk tightly, and managed to shoot her an awkward smile. "I'll buy you coffee."

"Uh…" She looked startled. "That's honestly not…"

"Take the coffee," Jean whispered loudly. "He's super stingy, this offer might never pop up again."

"I'm not stingy…" Armin said vacantly, his brow furrowing.

"Um, okay," Historia said hastily, looking more and more uncomfortable as time went on. "Well, to start with, it was awhile ago, so my memory is a little hazy. I know it was really late, and I was really tired, and just about ready to lock up for the night. Actually, I was really young when this happened. I think I've worked here for a little too long…"

"You practically own the place," Armin joked. She smiled at him weakly.

"Um… yeah, right…" She smoothed her hair back from her face and took a deep breath. "Anyway, it was late, and I was really tired as I was getting ready to lock up, so at first I didn't really notice Eren come in. He was kinda… er, how can I put this nicely…"

"Fucked up?" Armin offered. He understood what she was saying. Eren had seemed off, even in Armin's vague memories.

"Yeah…" She bit her lower lip nervously, glancing at Jean's camera and then quickly averting her gaze. "Yeah, he wasn't really… himself, you know? He came into the store and went straight to the book section, I guess, but I had no idea he was even in here, so I turned around—" Historia motioned with her hands, and then promptly whirled so her back was facing them. "— Like this, right? I turned around for just a few seconds to put the money from the register in the bag for the owner. And when I turned around again…" She turned to face them, her eyes gauzy and dim. "Eren was standing right there."

For some reason, Armin felt a chill strike down his spine. Jean pointed to where Armin stood, turning the camera onto him.

"Right there?" he asked.

"Yeah." Historia nodded. "He had a bunch of books with him, which I wanted to ring him up for, but he said he didn't have any money, and he wanted to put them on hold. So I did." She closed her eyes, and Armin could see the resignation there. "For six years. The owner of this place never really comes down, so I have free reign, mostly, and I just… never felt like it was right to sell them." She glanced between Armin and Jean, wringing her hands anxiously. "I'd always hoped Eren would come back to get them… but…"

It was a difficult thing, realizing someone loved dearly was in all probability gone forever. Armin had been holding out hope, building himself up to be the  _only_  person who could find Eren, but truthfully, Eren was lost, Eren was so lost, and Armin was feeling that crushing despair now, the hissing, clawing fears that dug into him and leaked the bitter truth into his bloodstream.

He felt as though some unseen force was crushing his throat, clenching it hard and laughing at his sadness. He kept his tears at bay, and nodded to Historia.

"So, um…" Historia flushed, and she glanced up at the ceiling. "Honestly, that's about it? If I'd known that'd be the last time I ever saw him, I… I wouldn't have just let him leave the store, you know…?"

"He just… put a few books on hold and left?" Jean lowered his camera, looking a little bewildered. "What a weird kid."

"Jean," Armin muttered. He stared at his hands, aware of the glassiness of his eyes. "Cut it out."

"Cut what out?"

Armin knew he couldn't help but be ignorant, but even so it was infuriating to try and communicate with him sometimes. Sometimes Armin wanted to scream at Jean until his throat was sore, and sometimes Armin just wanted to abandon Jean's friendship altogether, to flee from his careless words and harsh opinions.

But Armin was lonely. And Jean was a good friend to have in a bind.

"What happened to the books?" Armin asked Historia, decidedly ignoring Jean.

She looked a little puzzled, her brow creasing. She glanced at the book Armin had set on the desk. "Uh…"

Armin followed her gaze.

"Oh," he said. Inwardly, he wanted to tear his face off.  _No fucking way_ , he thought, picking up  _The Cult of Walls_  by its spine. "This one?"

"Yeah…" Historia tilted her head, her pale hair curling softly around her cheeks. "It's so strange that you both picked that up. It's… such an obscure little book… I don't even know who sold it to us…"

"Has it been here awhile?" Armin opened the book, flipping hesitantly to the copyright page, he saw, distressed, that it'd been torn out _. I should check the book at home_ , he thought.

"Honestly?" Historia gave a meager shrug. "I guess so, I mean I have no idea. As long as I've worked here, which you know has been awhile. Oh, but besides that one, he had two other books he wanted."

Armin stared at her intently, and he nodded. "Yes?" he asked eagerly.

"I-I don't have them, though," she said hurriedly, waving her hands. "I sold one of them, a pretty new book on the history of Shiganshina— and the other was a weird old witchy book that got stolen years ago. Good riddance, honestly, it looked downright satanic."

"And Eren wanted that," Armin clarified. Historia blinked at him, and nodded slowly.

"I can't imagine what for…" she whispered, glancing at the Wall Cult book warily. "But I'm sure Eren had his reasons… he always did have his own way of doing things."

"Yeah…" Armin could not deny it. Eren had always been hard to pin down, hard to understand fully, hard to truly catch in one state. He was so mercurial, and so brilliant and bold and bewildering. Armin tried to remember what it was like to be around such a breathtaking person, but in truth he could not imagine such elation any longer.

"Sounds pretty shady to me," Jean whistled. "But then again, nothing about this investigation really seems to add up right, so what the hell do I know?"

Historia looked down at her hands, and Armin wondered if she was keeping something from them. He wouldn't put it past her. They'd never spoken about that day, the day Armin had been called to meet Rod Reiss, who had been interested in finding his incognito daughter. Armin still did not completely understand what had motivated the man to call upon a thirteen year old to do such work, but he had a feeling that in spite of the fact that he'd refused to give Reiss Historia's fake identity, he'd found her anyway.

He wondered if she knew that. If she was even remotely aware of who her father even was.

"Thanks, Christa," Armin told her earnestly. She nodded at him, looking a little astonished, with her blue eyes all big and alarmed. "How much is the book?"

"Oh." She leaned back, snatching the book from him and peering at the inside cover. "Um, just give me two Euros."

"It's not two Euros," Armin stated in flat objection. She merely shrugged, tossing it back onto the desk.

"Who else is going to buy that book?" she asked vacantly.

"Dude," Jean whispered. "Take the deal."

"But I feel bad…" Armin whispered back weakly.

"Christ…" Jean muttered, shoving his camera into Armin's messenger bag and digging through his pocket.

"Jean—!" Armin squeaked as his friend tossed two one Euro coins onto the desk, grabbing the book and nodding to Historia. "No, wait, I can—!"

"Oh, shut up," Jean scoffed, shoving him toward the door. "Thanks for the info by the way, Christa."

"No problem," she replied, plucking the coins from the desk. She glanced at them as Jean ushered Armin out. "I… I hope to see you both again soon."

"Y-yeah!" Armin gasped, blinking rapidly as he was shoved out the door. He stumbled, whirling on Jean with a furious look that was hopefully more intimidating than it felt. "What the hell, Jean?"

"You're not telling me everything," Jean said very sharply. His expression remained unchanged, but Armin knew he was angry, and possibly a little hurt. "What the hell is with that book? What do you know about this that you're not saying?"

"I don't…!" Armin took a step away, utterly taken aback by Jean's sudden accusation. Of course it was true, Armin was hiding things, but he just didn't know how to react to  _anyone_  calling him out on it.

"What is this, then?" Jean held up  _The Cult of Walls_ , and Armin bit his lip and found himself wondering the very same thing. "Do you have any idea why Eren would be into this weird Wicca shit?"

"Okay, first of all," Armin said, "this has nothing to do with Wiccans, holy shit. I think the word you're looking for is pagan."

"Whatever!" Jean groaned, ruffling his hair irritably. "Pagan, then! Just— just think about it for a sec, will you? Eren started acting super weird before he disappeared, right? He went to this store to get these weird books on some obscure cult, and some witchy stuff, and then he went to your house and asked you to  _come into the woods with him_." Jean's eyebrows were raised very high, and Armin just could not for the life of him understand why he'd be suggesting such a thing.

"We used to sneak out all the time," Armin replied. "It's not that weird."

"Into the woods? At three in the morning?" Jean shoved the book into Armin's chest, and he laughed a little cynically. "The fucking  _witching_  hour!"

Armin tilted his head in awe. "Are you accusing Eren of being a witch?" he asked curiously.

"No, I'm just…" Jean sighed, and he just shook his head, because he had no words. Armin heard his loss, and it drifted in the air, cut from him and left to drift aimlessly until it wilted and withered, a path untaken and left to die at Jean's lips.

"I understand what you're saying," Armin said gently, "but I honestly don't think Eren was following a cult. He wasn't the type of person to believe in just anything, and this… this thing?" Armin held up the book, and shook his head furiously. "This isn't Eren."

"Okay, so wanna tell me what this all means, then?" Jean looked a little impatient, but Armin just could not answer. He didn't know, did he? He was still piecing things together, and this book was just the cherry on top of the freaky things that had happened just today alone.

"Actually," Armin admitted, glancing down at the book, "I found this exact book in my room this morning."

Jean stared at him blankly. "You're joking," he said dully. Then he laughed bitterly, and ran his fingers through his hair. "Of course you're not! Okay, humor me. Why would this book be in your room?"

"I… I don't really know…" He bit his lip, and wondered if he should tell Jean about the ball from beneath his bed. He decided he didn't want to be called crazy, and kept the thought of the sensation of chilly nails dragging across his palm buried in the back of his mind. "It was in my closet, and… it had a lot of weird writings in it. A lot of the pages were painted over, and stuff." He scratched his knuckles nervously, his eyes turning toward the end of the alley where the loose brick occupied its hollow space. "There was something… real weird about the last page, actually."

"Tell," Jean insisted eagerly.

Armin began to drift subconsciously toward the old brick, not caring if Jean followed or not. He tucked the book in his bag, his stubby nails snagging on the dry skin of his bony knuckles.

"Find me in blood," Armin said. "In soil so soaked. In the waves and the palisades. In the shadow and the light." Jean was following at a close distance, eying him warily. "Find me  _below_."

"Below?" Jean repeated distantly. "Wow, what the hell…?"

_What the hell_ , Armin thought.  _That might just be right_.

"It freaked me out a lot," he said, running his fingers along the protruding bricks, his knuckles itching so very badly, badly, badly. His bones drummed along the bumpy rock, rusty red and washed out from rains and winds gone past. "And before you start suspecting Mikasa again, my room used to be Kenny's."

" _Kenny_?" Jean asked, visibly disturbed by this, his expression twisting in disgust. "That motherfucker… what would he be doing with a book like that?"

Armin tossed his head from side to side, shrugging as he genuflected before the old brick. "No idea," he said, digging his fingers into the crease between the grout and the brick.

"Okay, what are you doing on the ground? What are you even…?" Jean sounded so exasperated, and it was almost amusing by this point. "Get up, Armin, holy shit, you're going to contract some disease. Or something. Get up."

"First of all, you're exaggerating," he replied, wriggling the brick free. "Second of all, I need to check something."

This time, Armin didn't look inside the empty rectangular space in the wall. Instead he glanced at the hollowed brick, and his breath caught inside his throat.  _No way_ , he thought breathlessly. He slid the brick toward him, and captured the little slip of paper, a torn bit of a news clipping smeared with mud.

"Oh my god…" Armin breathed, holding the paper up to the sunlight. Jean was speechless behind him, and in his shock he knelt as well, his hand landing on Armin's shoulder for support.

"'Don't go'," Jean read slowly, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Don't go where? What is this…?"

"I left a note," Armin whispered, his fingers gripping the paper shakily, "for Eren… the day I hit my head under that shack, remember?"

"Oh… yeah, I remember that…"

"I left a note," he said, feeling close to hysterical. "I thought that maybe Eren might be hiding, so I… I asked what happened to him… I didn't expect a reply, I mean—!" He laughed in disbelief. "I'd  _hoped_ , but this—? This is beyond anything I'd ever expected!"

"No way, though," Jean muttered, shaking his head furious. "Nah. It can't really be Eren, can it? Also, why is it in mud?"

_Maybe he didn't have anything else to write with_ , Armin thought. "It's Eren," he murmured. "I can tell."

"How?"

"I just know, okay?"

Jean shook his head once more, jumping to his feet. "Okay, okay," he said, swallowed hard and whirling around. "I should have recorded that, shit!"

Armin examined the note a little more closely as Jean pulled his camera out, training it directly on him. "Don't go…" Armin whispered, thinking very hard and very fast, his mind a jumble of thoughts that could not connect for the very thrumming life of them. "Don't go where, Eren?"

"Armin…" Jean lowered his camera, his tawny eyes frighteningly wide. With awe, with excitement. With fear, maybe. "Armin, look on the back."

Armin had not considered that there might be more to the message. He flipped the tiny, torn bit of newspaper around. And the message, with a great fist to Armin's squirming stomach, became abundantly clear.

"Don't go," Armin exhaled, "into the woods."

Jean watched him, his eyes still huge. Armin wanted to scream, he was so unnerved, so furious with Eren for being so vague and foolish and— and alive. Eren was alive, and Armin was… Armin was just sitting here pondering his fate, like some ignorant child waiting for a birthday wish to be granted. He was trapped in place, kneeling in a dingy alley with a muddy scrap of paper and a hollowed brick to weigh upon his guilty conscience. Eren. Alive.

The words were like magnets.

Attracted in part, but repulsed just the same.

Armin felt sick.

He leapt to his feet, abandoning the brick and pushing off. He ran.

"Armin?" Jean called after him, running along, faster than him by far. "Where are you going? Armin, hey!"

He didn't care. He didn't care what stupid Jean had to say. Eren was alive. Alive!

A note from a missing boy, and Armin's entire world was crumbling like dry clay.

Armin wasn't particularly athletic, so running such a great distance wore him down rather quickly. Even so, he fled across the bridge, snaking between buildings and along back roads until finally he reached the outskirts of the forest. Jean was still shouting, but weaker now, his focus on tailing Armin, not stopping him. The woods were just as thick and treacherous as they'd been on the day of Armin's prior adventure, only now Armin was not alone, and now he knew what he was looking for.

"Where are you even going?" Jean gasped, jogging beside Armin. "You were just warned not to go into the fucking woods, and what do you do?"

Armin paused, his feet skidding against dried leaves, dirt coughing up around him, and he doubled over to heave great gulps of breath, sweat licking down his neck and back, and he imagined what he must look like. A crazed little boy, flushed and teary eyed, panting so heavily that he was keeled over. He didn't know what madness had driven him to run this far, but here he was, and he felt like he needed to run farther, farther still, until he could run no longer, until the ground crumbled beneath his feet and there was nothing but rushing air and tumbling limbs.

He ran his fingers through his hair, and he laughed.

"I feel like," he choked, "I'm running around in circles, following a wisp of a lead over and over. I don't think this is investigating. This is… this is just a game of hide and seek gone wrong…"

"Armin," Jean said breathlessly, camera in hand. "Calm down."

"Right," he murmured, closing his eyes and squeezing them shut. "Right, right. Calm."

"Yeah…" Jean looked at Armin as though he were something very small and very fragile. "Calm. Maybe we should head back to Mikasa. Tell her about all this."

"No." Armin took a deep breath, and he straightened up. "I don't want to tell Mikasa anything unless I know for sure that Eren's actually alive and okay."

Jean stared at him, and he lowered his camera cautiously. "Sounds reasonable," he admitted. "But… come on, was rushing in here really the answer? We should look at the paper, try to figure out where and when it was printed, and determine if the handwriting matches Eren's. Right?" Jean was looking at Armin desperately, and he could sense the grappling, the hasty pleading for some sense of logic from the boy who knew everything. "Right?"

Armin pivoted, listening to the wind snarl through the branches of the trees above him. Leaves hissed, bark creaked, and twigs snapped underfoot as he stepped forward, listening, listening, his nail carving little lies into his knuckles. He ran again.

This time, Jean was left in the dust.

He was running away for reasons unknown to him, fleeing Jean and the world, feeling as though he'd just struck a landmine and his entire body was blown to bits— his brain in gooey, oozy bits, caught on tree branches and dripping from the heavens, mind in the sky, in the clouds, in the stars… and his heart was smashed on the ground with the dirt and the worms and the creepy crawlies that wasted no time attacking and devouring it. And the rest of him?

He was a running corpse, empty of emotion and thought.

He ran because he was strung up on hooks and dragged like an obedient dog.

He could not stop, no matter the weight on his lungs, no matter the tears flooding his ruddy cheeks, no matter, no matter, what's the matter?

He just didn't know.

Blood dribbled down his fingers. Skin caught under his nails.

He only stopped when he realized that he'd run across the forest, trekked uphill and dragged himself to the point where the forest ended and the floor dropped, and there was nothing left of the ground but jagged cliffs and a distant roar of a waterfall. Armin leaned on a tree for support, slumping and half-sobbing, for reasons he could not explain aside from the crushing pain in his chest and the metallic tang washed in his mouth from his burning throat.

_Why am I here?_  he wondered, on his knees and a mess of messes, his nose so close to the softened earth that he could smell the rot and the overturned dirt. _I shouldn't have left Jean. I'm such an idiot. How did I even outrun him? I'm not that fast. I'm not that fast at all_.

He couldn't move, everything hurt so badly.

He listened to the crooning of Titan's Maw, and he wondered.

How many people came here to die?

He turned his face up to the tree beside him, and he saw with bleary eyes that there were gouges and graffiti, love notes and goodbyes. He touched them, and his lower lip trembled so pitifully that he would have laughed at himself if he were not himself.

He didn't feel very much like himself at all.

So he laughed at himself.

Because it was so, so funny.

He was just such an undeniable fool.

His laugh was echoed by the wind.

No, Armin thought wildly, his head jerking upright. No, that wasn't the wind.

Laughter bounced through the trees from the edge of the forest, from the cliff, from the drop down into the palisades.

Armin dragged himself to his feet.

There was someone sitting at the very edge, on a smooth gray boulder that overlooked half of Shiganshina, and the spires of Trost in the distance. Armin could even see the patchwork of the Strip— the dirt road racetrack Mikasa often drove.

He moved closer and closer and closer, his heart thudding hard and his brain roaring up in a snarl of flames and thoughts and anxieties.

Eren.

_Eren_.

"Eren," he mumbled, the name catching on his tongue and cutting holes in his cheeks.

The boy— a boy, he looked like, not a man, just a boy with a face still so painfully round with youth, dark and brilliant and smooth to even look upon— turned his head ever so slightly, his legs kicking precariously over the edge of the cliff. His eyes met Armin's, and it was a moment of loss for them both as they watched each other confusedly, green and blue, crystallized sea foam and rippling fresh water, and Armin wondered, he wondered, he wondered if this was real or if he was still locked in that cellar, still waiting for someone, anyone to rescue him.

He was breathing so hard, so fast, that he realized he was breathing less than he was sobbing.

"Eren," he repeated, one foot moving forward. "Eren…"

Eren's thick eyebrows furrowed, and his lips parted in alarm.

"Armin," he responded hesitantly. His voice echoed softly in the air, a trickle of emotion there, a vague mix of horror and elation.

Armin felt himself decompose in a swift motion, his stitches tugged and his stuffing ripped out, a rag doll without any guts or string, just scraps of fabric and a misshapen face.

He fell to his knees, his sobs swallowed down, his eyes glistening madly. He was silent in his unparalleled sadness.

Eren watched, his eyes widening and narrowing and widening again, his thoughts plain to see upon his face, emotions frantically eclipsing one another as seconds, minutes passed.

"I…" Armin could not breathe.

Eren turned his head away. Something was wrong. Something was wrong here.

And Armin didn't care at all.

"I thought," Armin croaked, dragging bloodied fingers down his eyelids, peering at Eren through the red, for he simply could not tear his gaze away. "I thought you were dead, I thought—" He didn't know what he'd thought. Did it matter now? "I thought…"

Eren's body jolted as though suddenly electrified, his spin all but breaking as he twisted to face Armin. His mouth had dropped open, his jaw slack, and his brow knitted to the point where there were more creases than skin.

"Armin…" Eren said distantly, desperately.

He was crying. He needed to stop crying. It probably made Eren uncomfortable and that was the very last thing Armin wanted. He just… he was so… happy… happy, yes, happy, so happy…

So happy…

He wiped his tears, and gulped down a sob, and he smiled tremulously.

Eren did not smile back.

"Uh," he said, looking very uncomfortable. "This is awkward."

"What?" Armin asked, shaky voice and shaky smile. "W-what's awkward?"

Eren opened his mouth. He shut it. He squeezed his bold green eyes shut, and he shook his head.

"Shit," he muttered. "Armin, I…" He tossed his head back, and looked up at the sky. "I'm…"

He was breathless as he spoke, confused and disbelieving, "You're…?"

Eren finally met his eye again. And this time, he smiled. It was such a nice smile, small but genuine, hard but kind.

"Armin," Eren said, "I  _am_  dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> insert loud, disbelieving gasps from the audience here


	6. Chapter 6

**the dead shall remain dead**

The sound of pebbles shook him out of a deep slumber, little rocks colliding with a quick succession of  _ting-ting-ting-ting_  across the glass of his window. He blinked blearily, and yawned, rubbing his bleary eyes and squinting at his alarm clock. It was about midnight.

He crawled from bed, his feet dragging against the floor, and he peered out the window. Behold, the face of all things demonic.

Armin had shaken his head in disbelief as he'd pulled up his window.

"Eren," he'd hissed. "It's midnight! You're gonna get in trouble!"

"Nah!" Eren's teeth flashed white in the darkness. "Look, I heard about this cool place outside town. I'm gonna go check it out, you wanna come with?"

"It's midnight!"

"You'll be back before your grandpa even notices!" Eren gasped, nothing but a shifting shadow in the curtain of blackness. His waving hands were shifting blurs, and Armin bit his lip, gripping his windowsill tightly. To trust Eren, or to go back to sleep?

Armin had chosen.

It was Eren.

It was always Eren.

He'd dressed hastily in a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt, the late summer night a little breezy, but still too warm to wear trousers. He didn't have a bike of his own because some teenager had stolen his, so he rode on the pegs on the back of Eren's bike, his fingers digging into the boy's shoulder at every twist and turn. Eren did not mind, and it was an exhilarating ride regardless. The night sang around them, a breeze whispering through their hair, crickets crying softly in a shrill rhythm, a frog croaking once ever kilometer or so. Eren had insisted Armin wear his helmet, though it wouldn't really matter much if the crashed. Armin would go flying and likely break every bone in his body anyway.

This had been before they'd ever met Mikasa, a tender age when things seemed nice and simple, where it was a thrill unlike any other to sneak out in the middle of the night and ride a bike so far out of town that the lights of Trost in the great distance were their only guides.

They made it to Strip without any trouble. Eren was pretty good at bike riding, and Armin had pointed out the sounds and the lights coming from their right, which had prompted Eren to change direction accordingly. They made it to their destination through teamwork.

That alone was gratification for tagging along.

Eren locked up his bike, and then grabbed Armin's arm, shoving through a crowd of very tall people in order to push his way to the front. People had looked at them with puzzled expressions. Armin of course understood why. They were little kids, out at one in the morning to watch a drag race without any adult present. It was an honest concern.

"Where'd you hear about this place?" Armin had gasped, reaching the barrier between the racetrack and the onlookers, hanging close to Eren's side. Eren caught him by the hand, peeking over the barrier, and grinning broadly.

"Look!" he gasped, pointing across the Strip. "There's the Camaro! I heard that the driver's the fastest in the whole  _world_!" He did not smile, despite the excitement in his voice. "He should be a really good driver."

Armin squeezed Eren's hand, but about to comment that he could not actually see the Camaro. He didn't actually know what a Camaro was like, and he was sad he wasn't tall enough to actually get a look.

"The whole world, huh?" A very tall teenager was suddenly towering over them, and Armin jumped. Warily, Eren pushed Armin a little behind him. "Now who told you that?"

"Just people," Eren sniffed. Armin glanced up at the teen, and saw a sharp face in the shadows, pale hair sticking out from beneath a beaten up baseball cap. "Anyways, even if he isn't, he's gotta be close, right?"

"Maybe," the teen said vacantly. He glanced down at them, and he tilted his head. "You two look very young. How old are you?"

"We're not supposed to talk to strangers," Armin blurted, anxious to get out of this situation. Eren glanced at him, looking irritated, but the teenager merely laughed, and nodded firmly.

"That's right," he said. "You're a good kid."

"You're a kid too," Armin had said vacantly. He turned to Eren, not wanting to speak with the man any longer. "I can't really see over here. Can we move?"

"Nah, this is as good a place as any," Eren said. He glanced at him, and shrugged. "Here, I'll give you a piggy back."

"For the whole thing?" Armin laughed incredulously. "Sure!"

"Yeah," he said, "why not? Come here."

He was hefted onto Eren's back and left to observe the race with his chin resting in Eren's soft brown hair. The race was fairly exciting, the start as breathtaking as the end, with the Camaro wedging its way through a the race with some effort and skill, passing the other car and skidding across the finish line with a great cloud of dirt coughed into the hazy, sweat-slick summer air.

Armin and Eren had been so bewildered and so enthralled that they stayed a little longer to catch a look at the driver.

"Hey," Eren said vacantly, "the guy who was talking to us earlier, he's talking to the driver now."

"Huh." Armin shrugged, and tugged at Eren's hand. "Well they might know each other."

"I wanna see the driver's face."

"Eren," Armin had warned. "We need to get home. My grandpa might know I left already!"

"Yeah, yeah…" Eren let himself be dragged back to his bike, and he smiled sheepishly in the dark. "Yeesh…"

* * *

"What…?" Armin asked, his voice breaking ever so slightly. "Eren… come on. That's not really funny."

Eren stared at him. He frowned. "I'm not joking," he said. "I'm a hundred and ten percent serious right now. I'm fucking dead."

Armin blinked rapidly. He was already on his knees, and he didn't think he'd be getting up any time soon. His legs had given out. He was helpless. He was confused.

"Okay," he whispered. "Okay, humor me. If you're dead, how can you possibly be here?"

Eren gave a sharp little laugh, and raised his chin high.

"Uh, I'm a ghost," he said, rolling his eyes. " _Duh_."

Duh.

"Was that supposed to be obvious?" Armin asked, his voice thick with his uncertainty and his grief. "Was I supposed to know that? Eren, you disappeared! You left! You were gone for years and years, and suddenly you reappear like it's fucking nothing, like we haven't been looking for you endlessly, like I wasn't scared to death of what might've happened to you! Where the hell have you  _been_?"

Eren sat, turning his face away and kicking his legs idly over the edge of the cliff. He tilted his head back and looked toward the sky. Perhaps he was listening. Perhaps he wasn't.

"I've been here this whole time," he said, rocking backwards and forwards, tipping precariously over the ledge. "You were the one who left, not me."

"For college!" Armin clapped his hands angrily on his knees. "Because you were gone for seven years!"

Eren looked at him sharply. "What?" he blurted, lurching to his feet. Armin sat vacantly on the forest floor, teary eyed and weakened from overexertion. "I didn't know that. I didn't…." Eren ran his fingers through his dark hair, his eyes darting away from Armin's face. "Shit.  _Shit_."

"How could you possibly not know that?" Armin squeaked, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Eren, talk to me!"

"I'm talking," Eren said, throwing his hands into the air. "I told you already, didn't I? I'm dead. Why aren't you listening? I thought you knew. I thought…" He groaned, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh man, this just got real fucked up. Seven years?"

"Seven years," Armin whispered. "Seven long years, and I… I don't know, Eren. I don't know how I even made it. Mikasa, I guess." He perked up, and he leapt to his feet. "Mikasa! Eren, Mikasa was with you that night, wasn't she?"

He glanced at him, and he nodded very slowly.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Armin moved closer, exhilarated and exhausted. "What were those books for, the ones you put on hold at Historia's antique shop? And what the hell did you want to show me?"

"Books?" Eren looked bewildered. "Armin, what are you even talking about? Who's Historia?"

Armin closed his eyes, and shook his head furiously. "Christa! Whatever!" He bit his lip, and he heard his name being called in the distance. He glanced behind him, and he shook his head some more.

"Sounds like your horsey friend caught up," Eren said, sounding a little bitter. "I hate that guy."

"You don't even know him," Armin argued. Then he paused, and he squinted at Eren. "Have you been watching me?"

Eren's eyes widened, and he looked a little sheepish as he laughed. "Well, a little," he admitted. Armin barked a disbelieving laugh. "You look mad. Come on, don't be mad…"

"What the fuck, Eren?" Armin breathed, tears swimming in his eyes. "I don't understand why you didn't approach me sooner. I don't understand anything!" He rubbed his cheeks furiously. "I don't understand, because you're not saying a damn thing except that you're dead! I don't want to hear it! Stop saying it!"

"But I _am_  dead, Armin!" Eren snapped back. "Fuck, is that so hard to accept? If I've really been gone for seven years, don't you think I would have tried to come back? Fuck!" He stomped his foot against the gray rock he'd perched himself upon, but it made no sound. Armin stared. He wondered if he was delirious.

And then he remembered the old red ball from beneath his bed.

He took a deep breath.

"Eren, please," he murmured, closing his eyes. "Tell me you're alive, okay?"

"But I'm not, though…" Eren sounded so calm when he said it. It was so hard to listen to. "Listen. You have to get out of here."

His eyes snapped open. "Hell no," he snapped back, his hands balling into fists. "Are you kidding me? I only just found you!"

"Don't worry about that!" He grimaced, and he gritted his teeth. Armin watched as he seemed to flicker in the daylight. And that was the moment when Armin's heart seemed to stop, and the world seemed to fall out of sync. Eren's body had flickered out like a light, and reappeared just as angry as before, small, soft particles bouncing off his skin, light dispersing with every move he made.

"Don't worry about that!" Eren repeated furiously. "Just go, okay? I thought I told you not to go into the woods. And of course, you don't fuckin' listen because you're  _you_ , and you went into the woods!"

"Oh please," Armin scoffed, scowling at him. He ignored the fact that his body was flickering like a faulty television screen, that he did not seem to be corporeal, and he focused on the fact that he was here. He was here, and he was talking, and laughing, and yelling. Eren was here. He'd found him. Now how the hell was he going to report this? "Like you wouldn't do the same!"

"Not the point!"

"I'm not leaving until I get some answers," Armin declared stubbornly. Eren scowled. Armin scowled back.

"Fine," Eren snapped. "I'll just leave."

Armin's heart sank.

"No!" he gasped, stumbling forward. "No, don't—!"

Eren was grinning toothily, his green eyes twinkling in the sunlight. He looked real now. No flickering. No dust.

He laughed in Armin's face.

"Holy shit," Eren snorted, "chill. I can't leave the town, so if you really want to talk, you won't have trouble finding me. Just… not in the woods. Okay?"

"Okay…?" Armin sniffled, wiping away his stray tears. "I still don't really understand what's going on…"

"I died," Eren said flatly. "Does the rest really matter?"

"Armin!" Jean cried from somewhere close by. " _Armin_!"

He didn't even have the strength to turn to look where Jean might be.

"I've been searching for you," Armin said shakily, "for years and years. Of  _course_  it matters!"

Eren stared at him, and he hiccupped. Not literally, but his image seemed to grow very faint all of a sudden, and Armin was growing to accept, with every passing moment, that Eren was telling the truth about being a ghost. His face seemed to blot in and out of reality, dark and opaque, light and transparent, blue and brown and blank and bold.

He averted his gaze. "I'll tell you everything I can," he said finally. "Just… not right now. Okay? Are you satisfied?"

"Not even remotely," Armin replied curtly.

"ARMIN!"

 _Shit_ , he thought, whirling away to face Jean as he came barreling through the trees. He looked frantic and distraught, breathless and pained, his face contorted and his eyes darting wildly. Armin grimaced, and he turned back to Eren to explain that Jean really was no threat to him, he saw with a strike of pure horror that Eren was gone.

He lurched forward, his knees wobbling as his feet skidded against the sun-bleached boulder, his eyes moving frantically to catch even a wisp of the boy who'd vanished, the boy who was still a boy even after all his years gone, the boy who was everything and nothing at all. But Armin saw not a trace, not a breath, not a wisp of Eren Jaeger, and he swayed on his feet, feeling as though he were about to start wailing from despair. How could Eren do that? How could he just leave?

Armin did not wail, but instead he tipped his head over the side of the cliff, moving farther and farther, his stomach clenching in terror at the sight of Titan's Maw, a vague green smudge at the bottom of the ravine. He felt himself tipping, but he didn't care, because a thought had struck him.

Had Eren jumped?

 _I'm dead_ , he'd said.  _I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead_.

He hadn't seemed sad about it at all.

Had Eren jumped?

Could Eren be capable of such a thing, throwing his life away?

Armin was yanked back and thrown to the ground, dirt filling his mouth as he curled up in a ball and resisted the urge to sob.

"What," Jean panted, pointing a trembling, accusatory finger down at him, "the ever loving, motherfucking  _hell_ , Armin?"

He sniffled, and sat up. What was he supposed to tell Jean now?

"I just," he said faintly, glancing away, "wanted to see how long the drop was…"

"Well, did you fucking see it?" Jean was pissed. Beyond pissed, he looked ready to throw Armin over the side of the cliff himself.

He nodded fiercely. "No one could survive that fall," he said firmly, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Thanks for pulling me back."

Jean eyed him warily. "No problem," he said. "Wanna fill me in on what's going on inside your fucked up little head?"

Armin shot him a shaky smile. "I think I'm honestly just sleep deprived," he admitted. "I haven't really slept… or eaten in awhile, and I've been… really pushing myself with this case. I'm sorry, Jean. I'm dragging you around all of creation, and I don't even know what I'm doing. I'm really sorry."

They were mostly truths, but forced truths besides. Armin was a pretty cheeky person, and he understood how Jean worked. An apology would get him everywhere.

"Oh man…" Jean muttered, rubbing the back of his head. "Now you're making me feel bad."

Armin stared at him, eying him sadly from beneath his sweaty fringe. He didn't really have a reply, because he knew what he was doing, and he knew it probably made Jean feel awful, and the worst part was that he did not care. He wanted Jean to feel awful. That way he'd leave Armin alone about his behavior and focus on how shitty he felt.

He pushed past Jean, throwing one last glance at the cliff, and feeling unnervingly empty as he trudged forward. He just kept walking. Eren's face drifted inside his head, and he kept walking in spite of it, in spite of the words and the uncertainties. Jean followed, but Armin ignored.

He felt like something was clogging his brain. The world around him was muted.

The world was muted, but he could feel the hurricane snarling all around him. The winds and the rain shifting the earth where he stood. If he stopped walking, he was certain he'd be blown away.

He missed Eren.

Where was Eren?

Where had he gone?

Had he even been real?

Get out of the forest. Get out of the forest. Get out of the forest.

And then everything would make perfect sense, right?

Right?

He was sick from the sound of his own voice spouting lies. He wondered if any of them saw through him, or if he was going to end up drowning in the waste he puked.

Oh well.

Jean took him home. Once they'd exited the woods, Jean had taken him by the arm and dragged him back to the garage. He told Mikasa he was sick, which might've been true, but Armin just didn't know. He didn't feel sick, but he also didn't feel right. He took a shower to wash the dirt and blood away, and his thoughts drifted to Eren, who was somewhere, who maybe was dead, who maybe was alive, who had spoken or not spoke, who was otherworldly either way.

Armin sat down on the shower floor, streams of hot water beating at his back, and he began to cry into his knees. He didn't know, he didn't know, he didn't  _know_  and that was so hard for him! He was the boy with all the answers! He was the boy who could solve anything! Everyone had looked to  _him_  when Eren had disappeared! What do you think happened, Armin? Is Eren dead, do you think? Armin? What do you think? Armin, what happened? Armin, what's going on? Armin? Armin? Armin? Why don't you know?

Armin?

"Armin."

He looked up, squinting through the haze and the steam, his hair dark and damp at his cheeks, and he saw Mikasa kneeling beside the tub, watching him with her dark eyes cloudy and her smile too small and too tight.

He felt embarrassed, and he hugged his knees to his chest, staring at her with wide eyes and a red face.

"W-what're you—?" he choked, as she turned off the faucet, and the roar of water, the endless din of the stream and the endless beat of heat dispersed in quick second. "Mikasa…"

She took his hands in hers, and he noticed at they were smudged black from grease. Even so, they looked to be in better shape than his raw, red fingers, his knuckles split open and skin cracked like porcelain. Rivulets of water gathered up the smears of oil and cleaned a trail of her skin as it descended toward the ground.

"Look at you," she whispered, her expression softening. "What a mess you've made of yourself."

"I…" he blinked rapidly. "I… um…"

She tossed a towel over his head.

"Chill," she said. "I'll leave you alone, but you know I pay for the hot water, right?"

"Shit," he murmured.

"It's fine." She stood up, wiping her hands off on her jeans. "I was just checking to make sure you're okay."

He held his knees awkwardly to cover himself, ashamed for reasons he could not explain, and he tilted his head at her. "Why wouldn't I be?" he asked her vacantly. His knuckles were angry and red. His body was frail and bony. She looked at him, and her eyes lingered on his protruding bones.

He felt ashamed.

"You weren't feeling well, right?"

"Oh!" He shook his head furiously, wrapping the towel around himself. "No, I… I mean, I wasn't, but I'm okay now. Honest."

"Good," she said, smiling genuinely now. "Because I know what will cheer you up. As long as you're up for going."

He perked up.

"Wait," he gasped, "are you talking about what I think you're talking about?"

"Well, probably."

"Awesome!" Armin cried. "Wait, tonight?"

"Yes, Armin." She smiled at him, shaking her head slowly. "But only if you're up for it."

"Yeah," he said, blinking rapidly. "Of course I am!"

"Awesome," she said, giving a little laugh and turning away. "Sorry for bursting in on you."

"Nah, it's okay," he said sheepishly, adjusting his towel. "It was bound to happen eventually, and better me than Jean."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ah." He smiled at her. "Forget it."

She shot him a strange look, and left him promptly. He sat for a while after that, his towel sagging on his shoulders, and he examined his ruddy hands. He'd have to take better care of them. And stop scratching them. What an ugly sight.

He climbed out of the tub and dressed himself hastily, drying his hair with his towel as he exited the bathroom. His hair was drying in fluffy blonde ringlets around his ears, and he tried to flatten it down as he entered his room, but it was no use. He kicked the door closed and checked his phone, noting once more just how ugly the scratches on his hands were, and he reminded himself to go wrap them in bandages or something.

He sat down on his bed, frowning at his fingers, and he sighed. "Shit," he said, tossing his phone aside.

Suddenly he remembered that there was something under his bed.

He kicked his legs up, squeaking pitifully, and he glanced around frantically, the hairs on his arms standing on end. Weird shit was happening everywhere lately, but he just couldn't shake how eerie the ball under his bed was. He didn't even want to think about it.

And yet, he found himself hanging over the side of his bed, cautiously lowering himself so he could peek underneath it. It was totally dark, and so he saw nothing, but his heart was pounding viciously in his ears and his damp hair brushed the floor as he swayed.

Finally he gave up squinting at nothing, and he raised his head.

He was greeted by the amused face of his missing best friend.

"Boo," Eren laughed.

Armin shrieked in shock, and he toppled right off his bed, landing painfully on his shoulder and flipping half over his body. "Ow…" he moaned into the hardwood floor.

"Oh." Eren squatted beside him, looking sheepish. "Sorry. I honestly didn't think I was gonna scare you."

"Eren," Armin breathed, holding his aching head. "What the hell?"

"No hello?" Eren rolled his eyes. "Yeesh. Okay then. I see how it is."

"Eren!"

"Shh!" Eren shot him a sharp glance, and he flickered. A ripple ran through him, his skin sort of… peeling back… and he blinked away for just a moment before returning to looking like a normal boy. He didn't even seem to notice he'd left. "Do you want Mikasa to hear?"

"What?" Armin sat confusedly on the floor. "Do you not… do you not want Mikasa to see you, or something?"

Eren glanced up at the ceiling. "It's not that," he said softly. "I'd love to talk to her, it's just… I don't think I'm ready for that conversation. Anyway, have you been eating?"

Armin bristled. "Why?" he asked, curling defensively. His eyes widened. "Were you watching me?"

"Only a little!" Eren gasped, pinching the air with his thumb and forefinger. "And I mean, not for long, I just… wanted to make sure you were okay. After the forest thing. I'm really sorry about that."

"What's going on, Eren?" Armin asked as calmly as he could.

Eren smiled vacantly. "Oh," he laughed. "Right! Yeah, I told you I'd explain stuff, huh?"

"Are you really dead?" he asked cautiously.

"Uh, yeah?" Eren looked very confused. "You know that."

"You told me," Armin sighed, "but I'm having trouble believing it."

Eren glanced at him with sympathy, and he knelt down. "Sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry you had to wait seven years to talk to me. I'm sorry I'm not what you expected or hoped for. And… I'm sorry I don't have answers."

Armin closed his eyes. He could barely contain his fury, but he managed it. It melted into somber disbelief.

"How?" he whispered. "How can you not have answers?"

"I just don't," Eren said. "I hate it, but I honestly am so lost most of the time, I can barely function."

"Lost." Armin shook his head. "What does that mean, Eren?"

"Ugh, I don't know!" Eren rolled his shoulders, and he sniffed. His appearance flickered. "I feel all distant and sleepy— like I'm stuck in a never ending dream of sorts, just in one place perpetually while the world goes by, and stuff." He looked down at his hands. "It wasn't so bad. I was kinda lucid sometimes— but I could never really leave the forest."

"And you can now?" Armin's eyes narrowed. "What's that about?"

"Hell if I know!" Eren scowled at the floor. They were both quiet for a little bit, and Armin watched him, watched his dark face and his bright eyes and his knitted brow, his fear and uncertainty spilling from him like hot, restless waves. Eren looked up, and he met Armin's eye. They watched each other. And Eren smiled. "I do know one thing."

Armin smiled back, hopeless to the urge. "Tell me," he said.

"I woke up," Eren said breathlessly. "I'm awake now. And I know it's because you're back."

"Because of me?" Armin laughed in disbelief. "Okay, enlighten me. How do you know that?"

"I just feel it," Eren said simply.

 _That must be nice_ , Armin thought sadly _. Feeling and knowing on instinct_. He said nothing, but Eren could sense his sadness.

"You're taking it so lightly," Armin murmured. "That you're… dead…"

"You're taking it pretty lightly too," he retorted, shrugging.

"Oh, no," Armin said, waving his hands hurriedly. "Actually, I'm freaking out pretty badly. I just don't see the point in outwardly showing it."

"You never change," Eren scoffed. "Always with that shit where you don't wanna bother anyone about your feelings. Like, give it a rest already."

"Eren," Armin said. "You're dead. Right? I don't have any right to—"

"Bull."

"But—"

"Bullshit."

" _Eren_ ," Armin sighed, exasperated.

"Armin!" Eren whined. "So what's new, anyway? What have I missed in seven years?"

"Eren, I still don't understand what's going on," Armin said slowly. "One thing at a time."

"Well you're not gonna figure it out just this second, sitting on your ass in Creepy Ackerman's old room, are you?" Eren folded his arms across his chest. "No! So c'mon. Details! Did anyone hook up? Come out? Are Ymir and Christa still not digging the intimacy thing?"

"Um," Armin said, glancing up at the ceiling. "Yes, yes, and yes. Connie and Sasha briefly dated, but they're back to just being friends I think. Unless I'm wrong. Reiner's bi now."

"He was always bi," Eren scoffed. "Actually, I thought he was gay for sure, but bi makes sense too, I get it."

"Bertholdt is bi," Armin said, counting on his fingers, "I'm pretty sure Annie and Miaksa are bi…"

"Whoa, really?" Eren tilted his head. "Annie, huh?"

"Pretty sure."

"Mikasa's um," Eren said, snapping his fingers, though no sound came from it, "what's it called? Demisexual?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right." Armin was appalled that he did not know this about his best friend. "Did she tell you that?"

"I googled it for her because she didn't want to." Eren shrugged. "I don't know why. It's really hard to read Mikasa, so I don't pry real hard, and I just go with it."

"Noted," Armin said, though he was certain he already knew how to deal with Mikasa's personality on his own terms. As he was sure she had her own methods of dealing with him. "Also, Ymir and Christa are still… whatever they are, not explicitly dating but also pretty much dating. You know how they are."

"Yeah, I don't actually care that much about their personal lives," Eren laughed, "I was just fucking with you."

Armin sighed, closing his eyes. "Eren," he said, "that's not nice."

"I just mean that it's their business," he said vacantly. "Chill out, Armin."

"Chill yourself," Armin retorted, shoving him lightly in the shoulder. He shrieked in alarm as his fingers passed right through Eren's skin and through the bone of his shoulder, a shock of numbness spiking up along his nerves, an icy sensation colliding with the pores of his skin and electrifying his senses. And in his eyes a sliver of light blasted through him, the chill and the pain and the fear and the uncertainty, the crash and the cold. "Shit!"

Eren flickered. Eren was so close. Armin's hand was stuck inside his shoulder, swishing idly in the cold air that Eren occupied, as though he were nothing, as though he were not there. Eren smiled. Eren flickered. Eren's skin was pasty and wet. Eren's skin was warm and brown. Eren's eyes were bold and bright.

Eren's eyes were gauzy and dull.

He disappeared, and Armin's hand hung limply in the air, the room so frigid from Eren's mere presence that Armin exhaled and saw his breath mist. His hand drooped sadly, and his throat constricted painfully. His eyes began to sting and water.

For just a little while… for just a tiny, blissful little while, Armin had forgotten.

_Am I losing my mind?_

He sat on his floor and puzzled over this thought for an hour.

He began to cross-reference the identical books on the Wall Cult to pass the time and get his mind off Eren, the ghost boy, and he realized something quickly.

The Wall Cult primarily worshipped three goddesses. Maria, Rose, and Sina.

Armin had read the parables. He knew the gist of it.

The reason behind the founding of the religion was a little shoddy, and Armin didn't know the details in particular, but it had something to do with the power the three sisters of those names had possessed in a time gone past, and now they had something that could be  _considered_  a following, if you squinted. The credibility of the religion was something he had to question as he continued his reading, understanding that there were separate accounts of the sisters' teachings, which dealt with, among other things, good will, sacrifice, nature, and the immortal souls of all living things. Sounded nice in theory. But so did communism.

He'd have to look into whether or not this was an actual religion before he started scrutinizing the text he was reading.

A knock at his door jolted him out of his reverie, and he twisted around, books and notebooks and his laptop all around him in a circle of disorganized research. Jean had opened the door, and he was peering down at Armin quizzically, his fists in the pockets of his leather jacket. He looked actually half presentable, his hair combed back instead of left to the wind to style, and he actually put the earring in that he'd gotten in their second year.

"Hey," Jean said cautiously, leaning against the door. "Have you seen my lighter?"

Armin sighed. He was used to this question. "Did you check under your bed?" he asked, thinking of the most logical place it could end up being. Often Jean knocked his lighter off his nightstand in his sleep, and it fell beneath his bed.

"Yeah, it's not there," he said, shrugging. "Maybe I dropped it in the woods?"

"Yeah, maybe…"  _Don't go into the woods_ , a voice hissed inside his head. He sat on the ground vacantly.

"So are you still coming?" Jean eyed him uncertainly, and Armin looked down to see he was still in his sweatpants and a thin cotton tee shirt. "Or are you still feeling crummy?"

"No, I'm okay now," he said, pushing away his computer and the books, blowing his fluffy hair from his eyes. He missed Eren. He wondered where his friend had gone.

"That's good!" Jean beamed at him. "So do you want to talk about what happened in the forest now?"

"Oh." Armin had not thought of an excuse yet. Perhaps he'd been meaning to tell the truth. "I thought I saw Eren. I made a mistake."

Jean stared at him blankly, and his eyes narrowed. "You thought you saw Eren," he echoed, "for real?"

"It was a mistake," Armin said. "I was wrong."

"Well why didn't you say that before?" Jean asked, frowning at him. "You were acting so weird, man, like you were possessed, or something."

Possessed? Now wasn't that a frightening thought.

"I think I'd know if I was possessed," Armin laughed uneasily.

Jean nodded, and he checked his phone. "Yeah, so you're coming, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Cool." Jean turned away and waved at him. "Get dressed, then, asshole. Oh, and tell me if you find my lighter."

"Did you check up your ass?" Armin called after him.

"Not yet!" Jean snapped back from the hall, not missing a beat. "But if I shit a fucking fireball, you'll know!"

"God…" Armin shook his head, shutting his door. He glanced at the painting of Isaac, and he scowled at it. He needed to find something to cover that shit up.

He pulled on a pair of jeans and a loose periwinkle cardigan over a tee shirt. He grabbed his wallet and phone, stuffing them into his pockets as he left his room. He glanced back, expecting Eren to be standing there in the dark, but he wasn't. The room was just a dark space, the closet door left open and a box half spilled on the floor. Armin left without another thought.

"Hey," he said to Mikasa, entering the living room. She was sewing up a hole in her gloves. "Do you think there's any chance of a break up tonight?"

"No," she said, never parting her focus from her gloves. "We'll always be at the Strip, but the Strip is huge, so pinpointing where exactly we are is never something the police can actually do. Plus, Annie will be there. She knows better than to get caught."

"I'm so jacked for this," Jean said, grinning at them. "I haven't been to a race since I was in high school. Oh, Marco's coming by the way."

"All of our friends will probably show up," Mikasa said, "so that's fine."

Almost all of them.

Armin glanced down the hall. Again, he expected Eren to simply be standing there, watching them. He was so pathetic.

"Be careful what you drink," Armin warned Jean.

Jean smiled at him as if Armin were a child, his arrogance showing through. "Armin," he said, rolling his eyes, "I've been to this thing before. I know how to take care of myself."

Armin bit back a firm retort that he was going to get so fucking trashed that Mikasa would have to carry him home, but he didn't. He merely gave Jean a long look until Jean's smile fell, and he shifted uncomfortably. Mikasa finished sewing up her gloves, and she nodded at them.

"Armin," she said, "go grab something to eat."

Armin opened his mouth to object, but he saw the look in her eyes, and he bit his tongue promptly. He smiled at her, but he felt stupid and shameful, and he nodded. "Sure," he said. He left them to go find something he could eat on the go. Luckily for him, Mikasa kept breakfast bars ready to go.

He bent down, prying open the cupboard and snatching a box of granola bars. As he slipped a bar from the box, something fell from the open cabinet, colliding with the floor and dribbling softly as it rolled to his feet. Armin stared at the faded red ball, and he wondered why any child would want to play with such an ugly thing. He picked it up, and he weighed it in his palm. It was heavy.

When he looked up, there was a tiny face half emerged from the cupboard, tiny fingers outstretched toward him. The face was pallid, starved of sunlight and hollow from malnutrition. In the shadows, the face had no eyes, only deep black pits. The air in the room had gone cold and sour, like sweat settled into fabric, and Armin could not breathe. He stared at the thing— the  _child_  sitting in the cupboard, huddled in the dark— and it stared back with its empty eyes and yellowed skin.

It withdrew, its bony hand wilting in the air.

Its skinny wrist was inflamed, unsettlingly red and angry as though it had been burned or chafed for an inordinate period of time.

Armin dropped the ball, his heart leaping into his throat, and he could not even scream because he was so terrified of the thing before him.

The ball did not collide with the floor, and unbidden, Armin's eyes darted down. It was gone. It had completely vanished. And when Armin looked up at the child's wan little face again, he saw the cupboard was empty and dark.

Terrified, Armin slammed the cupboard shut and bolted from the room.

Jean and Mikasa glanced at him as he ran in, breathless and teary eyed, his heart thundering inside his chest. From the kitchen, The Captain began to bark. Armin didn't dare look behind him.

"Angry?" Jean asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Armin flushed, but he couldn't speak. So he shook his head. Mikasa watched him with a furrowed brow, and he sensed her worry.

Eren was a ghost. And he wasn't the only one. There was something in this apartment, and he could feel it watching him.

He was in shambles. Had that been real?

"Let's go," he said eagerly, desperate to leave. The Captain had come into the room. He was growling at Armin's back.

They left. And Armin had never been so relieved to leave anywhere in his entire life.

"You okay?" Mikasa asked him. She was glancing at him, not keeping her eyes on the road. He nodded quickly. "You look really pale."

"I'm fine," he lied easily.

"You haven't eaten."

Armin glanced down at his granola bar, but in truth he thought he'd puke if he had to eat it. His stomach was in a knot from the encounter he just had. He didn't know how to explain it. He didn't know what to say to Mikasa and Jean to make them believe him.

"Do you guys believe in ghosts?" he blurted.

Mikasa eyed him warily, and she did not answer. Jean replied with a vague, "Yeah."

"Okay," he said. "Cool."

What else was he supposed to say?

"What's this about, Armin?" she asked him.

"Nothing, just curious."

Liar.

Liar.

That's all you are.

A liar.

A liar.

Armin tore open the granola bar and consumed it with the kind of mechanic proficiency of a well-oiled tin man.

"Hey, is this part of the Strip still considered Shiganshina?" Armin asked as they pulled up to the illegal street racing track, which was already packed with various people, teenagers and drunkards and stoners alike.

"Yeah," Mikasa said. "The border between it and Trost is about a mile north of here."

 _So maybe Eren could show up_ , Armin thought hopefully. Then Armin could ask about the ghost child in Mikasa's apartment.

They exited Mikasa's car as she turned around to pull up to the makeshift track. She'd done races in Trost before, and in Shiganshina, but most races were held on the Strip. Jean stuck close to Armin for awhile, keeping him at a close distance if only to make sure he was okay.

"You can tell me if you're stoned," Jean said.

"I am not stoned," Armin informed him.

"That sounds like something a stoned person would say."

"You'd know," Armin retorted.

"True."

And then Jean found the makeshift bar, so Armin was left to stand awkwardly among the shifting bodies, dizzy from the marijuana fumes and sick from the scent of beer. Both things he really disliked, but everyone else in the world seemed to adore.

These things were always basically keggers until the race began. There was music thrumming in his ears, music so loud that the police should've been right on top of them, but their remote location gave them the advantage. Armin observed who was underage, and who was not. The alcohol laws were not especially strict, but Armin remembered the first time he'd been handed a little red cup of vodka diluted with lemonade, and that had been when he'd been about twelve. Eren had told him the next morning that he'd made a guy cry, though he wouldn't tell him the details.

Armin was not a nice person when he was drunk.

He found Sasha and Connie, and he was endlessly glad for their company, but they were already roaring drunk. He asked if they had a designated driver, and they pointed.

That was how Armin came to stand beside Ymir for the remainder of the night.

"You look like a used up baby blue oil pastel," she greeted him. She pulled her phone out and took a selfie with him anyway.

"Nice to see you to," he told her. "Glad to know I won't be the only sober one tonight."

"Yeah, well, you know how it is," she said, glancing at her fingers and picking at her black nail polish. "I came here with Christa, but she's already downed half her weight in alcohol, so I left her to the trio of dubious intent. We'll see if they make it out of here alive."

"You're terrible," Armin said, smiling dimly. The thing about alcohol and Historia Reiss? It did not affect her.

At all. Like, honestly, hardly even a little bit.

The only thing it did was make her drop the angelic act, which was jarring for some, but for Armin and Ymir, they understood it was perfectly natural.

By some extent, Historia was a meaner "drunk" than even Armin.

Which was saying a lot.

"You know," he said, "you  _act_  like you're such an enormous bitch, but you're probably the most moral out of all of us."

"I'd bleed you dry in a second if I thought your wallet had cash in it," she told him curtly.

"Here." Armin tossed it at her, and she caught it between two fingers. She stared at him vacantly. "There's like twenty five Euros. Go wild."

"You're fucking with me."

"I'm wondering what you'd invest my twenty five Euros in." Armin tilted his head. "You should buy a new hijab."

She tossed his wallet back at him. "I don't need your money, you creepy little dweeb."

"Like I said," he said, "you're nicer than you act."

"I could skull drag you from here to the Alps." She folded her arms across her chest. "You think I'm nice? I think you're pathetic."

"Warranted," he replied, glancing around the crowd and spotting Annie drinking beer with Historia. He waved at her, and she waved back. Their version of cordial interaction. Maybe they'd even exchange a greeting later, if Annie wasn't smashed.

"You don't even defend yourself," Ymir sneered. "Talk about spineless."

"Are you going to spend the whole night trying to prove me wrong?" Armin glanced up at her. He could see her freckles against her dark face, the lights from the dirt track gleaming over the crowd. "Good luck with that."

"You know," she said, "for someone so insignificant, you're a real egotistical ass."

"Egotistical?" His eyebrows raised in alarm. "That's actually a new one. But it fits. Continue. What else is wrong with me?"

Ymir took a deep breath. She was clearly furious that she could not get at him, and honestly, he didn't blame her. He was pretty good at acting. Just as good as her maybe. He knew how to hide how shitty he felt about himself.

The crowd began to roar, and Armin realized the race was about to start. He'd wanted to talk with Reiner and Bertholdt, considering he still had not seen them, but it was too late for that now. He could see Mikasa's Camaro at the starting line, and he pushed his way eagerly to the barrier between where the onlookers stood and the dirt road. Ymir followed him silently.

"Got any money on this one?" Ymir asked.

"No, not tonight," he replied. "I think Jean did, though."

"Who's Jean?" she asked with a snort.

"Oh." Armin had forgotten. Not everyone knew him. "My roommate. He came here with me."

"Are you two hooked up, or…?"

Armin couldn't help the grimace that appeared on his face at the thought. "No," he said. "It's not like that at all, but your interest in my personal life is much appreciated."

"Chill, I was just asking."

Armin watched the referee raise his arms. Everyone was quiet. And then, he dropped them, and the din reached a pitch that throttled his eardrums, and the sound of the cars revving matched even that. The cars took off, which was certainly exciting, but Armin had seen this a few dozen times before, and it had lost its charm. He didn't know what it is. Maybe growing up had left him bitter and empty of joy. He hated himself for being such a downer.

"I heard you were on the hunt for Eren," Ymir said, watching the race with only vague interest. Armin watched Mikasa nose ahead, her car spitting dust while the other fell a little behind. "How's that working out for you?"

 _Terrible_ , he thought. "Okay," he said. "I'm still trying to piece everything together."

"Yeah, that kid's a goner for sure."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Well, she wasn't wrong.

The race continued, and Armin checked his phone. It was nearing one in the morning. He wondered what Eren was doing. Where he'd gone off to. How he'd… died. Why he wouldn't tell him. Why he couldn't remember, if that was the case. It was all so strange, and Armin's logic was still morphing to fit the situation. Not to mention the other ghost, which he did not want to think about.

How was he supposed to sleep tonight?

He watched eagerly as Mikasa accelerated, surpassing her opponent and moving at an incredible speed, curving a sharp turn with a flourish of control, and finally gaining the upper hand needed to finish the race without a hitch. Armin smiled. This was the part he always loved. Watching Mikasa cross the finish line and deliver the show. She was so good at it, too. She knew how to make the moment.

Mikasa's car screeched as she slammed on her breaks, loosing all of her control in a swift swivel of the wheels, and Armin watched in horror as the Camaro flipped. And flipped. It rolled across the dirt. The sound of bending metal and shattering glass sang in the air, and the heat of the crash wafted toward them. Armin and Ymir stood side by side, their faces echoing the immense shock of watching Mikasa's car get unimaginably wrecked.

Armin hopped the barrier once his shock subsided, calling out Mikasa's name in feverish horror. Eren was gone already. He couldn't lose Mikasa too.

He tugged on the door, but it would not open. He squinted at her through the cracked window, and saw her slumped at the wheel. He wound the sleeve of his cardigan around his fist, and brought it down on the window with as much strength as his scrawny arm could muster. It didn't shatter, but the glass cracked some more, leaving it spiderwebbed and ugly. Armin took a deep breath, and he decided to use his elbow to deliver the final blow. The glass shattered, and he stumbled back as a shard brushed past his ear. He touched it gingerly, and his finger came back wet and slick with blood.

He knocked out the remnants of the glass, and he unlocked the door, tearing it open. Mikasa's helmet was resting in her lap. Her hair was gathered around her face. She looked dead. She looked dead. She looked—

She stirred, and groaned.

Armin let out the breath he'd been holding, and he shook his head, quickly unbuckling her seatbelt. She slumped forward further, and he found himself clambering into the compacted car pulling at her from beneath her arms. His feet slipped a bit. He realized why as the scent of gasoline hit his nose, burning his nostrils and forcing him to glance down. There was a puddle of gasoline gathering beneath the car.

"Shit," he breathed, yanking at Mikasa and shifting her body so she was no longer pinned beneath the steering wheel. Unfortunately, Mikasa weighed a lot more than him, and he was pretty weak to begin with. He adjusted his grip so his arms were around her stomach, and he half pulled her from the car. His eyes fell on the rearview mirror.

Standing near the hind-wheel, a tiny boy stood watching. Armin could not see his face, only that he was pale and tiny and barefoot. He stood there, simply watching. And Armin wondered if he'd been the reason Mikasa had crashed.

 _He followed me_ , Armin realized, sickened at the thought _. I let him out of the cupboard, and he followed me here!_

Armin watched the child through the mirror. The boy held something in his bony fist. He struck it with his thumb. A flame burst into life at his fingertips.

He hauled Mikasa out of the car, crashing onto the ground and heaving her body away from the gasoline as the boy dropped the lighter.

 _Please, please, please_ , he thought, still dragging Mikasa as far as he could, heat flaring up before him and around him. He kept at it, his skin peeling and his tears blotting out his vision. And still he pulled her, gripping her so tightly he thought he might've broken one of her ribs from the pressure.

He felt someone grab him by the neck of his sweater and yank him very hard. He rolled across the dirt, coughing and gasping in light of the smoke and the spitting flame, and he gripped Mikasa tighter, burying his face in her back.  _Don't take her away from me_ ,  _please_ , he thought.  _Please, please, please_. She smelled like blood and sweat and smoke.

"You're fucking crazy!" Jean shouted at him. "Shit! Shit—!" He clapped his hands over his head in disbelief. "Someone put out that fucking fire before that shit blows up!"

"On it!" Sasha cried.

"God damn it!" Jean glanced down at them. Armin huddled against Mikasa's body, clinging to her for dear life. He'd nearly lost her. How could that have happened? How could he have almost let that happen? "You okay?"

He shook his head miserably. No, he wasn't. He really wasn't. "Mikasa," he mumbled, sitting upright. He shook her shoulder. "Mikasa, wake up."

She groaned. There was blood on her face and in her hair. Dirt was smeared all over her clothes. She opened her eyes, and stared dazedly into Armin's face. Her hair was clinging to her sweaty forehead, curling across her cheeks, and swaying as she moved. She turned her head aside vacantly, her lips trembling as her face contorted in pain and confusion.

"Eren?" she whispered shakily. Her eyes darted around in horror. "Eren…"

She curled up against Armin, burying her face into his cardigan, and she began to sob.


	7. Chapter 7

**learning to fear men**

Armin had taken to trying to figure out which notes Eren had gotten wrong. He knew because he'd more or less gotten the concept of piano playing down, and he could read the music fine, but applying it was a nightmare. Eren was just the opposite. He was a maestro of sorts when it came to making music on a whim, but ask him to read sheet music and he butchered even the simplest of scales.

Not to say he didn't try, because he did. Very hard. But the way Armin figured it, Eren's brain was just not wired to be patient enough to read the music and then immediately act upon it. All he wanted was to act without reading. So he skipped notes. Made up his own. Did things in such a frantic and unconventional way that the song no longer even resembled what it was supposed to be. Needless to say, his teacher was pretty tough on him.

"I bet," Eren had grumbled, slamming his hands on the keys so the screeching noise they made was like a cat toppling down a flight of stairs. "I bet if I quit, then I'd be allowed to play whatever I wanted."

"Do your scales, Eren," Armin reminded, sitting on the floor beside the piano and patiently waiting for his friend to be done practicing. It was a nice day out, but he didn't mind being in doors. Eren's playing was so nice, and so pretty, that Armin would much rather sit inside and listen.

"I  _hate_  the scales," he whined, leaning back at his little wooden bench. "My fingers get all tangled up!"

"You need to learn them if you want to get better at piano," Armin said.

"I'm already as good as I'm gonna get, though." Eren scratched his head. He hadn't meant it arrogantly, or self-deprecatingly, he'd only meant that he was comfortable with where he was in terms of talent, and he wasn't going to push himself at something he didn't want to get better at.

"I'm sure someday," Armin had insisted, "you'll look back and be super thankful that you took piano lessons. Just wait!"

"Well someday isn't  _right now_ ," Eren moaned, prodding at middle C in a sharp succession of notes. "I wanna go outside and play with chalk. Let's go do that."

"You have to practice, Eren."

"I'm done practicing!" Eren leapt off his bench and marched across the room. Armin squeaked and hurried after him. "I just want to play outside. Piano gets in the way of fun."

"But piano  _is_ fun," Armin said gently. "Remember? You love it."

"I love it when I can do it when I want and how I want." Eren paused, and he glanced back at it. "Ugh. Crap. Now I feel guilty. Thanks."

"I didn't say anything!"

Eren grinned at him, and he shoved him playfully. "Calm down," he laughed, wandering back to his bench. "I'm just teasing you. Anyway, wanna hear a song I made up?"

"Yes," Armin said eagerly.

"Awesome," Eren said. He patted the spot beside him on the bench, and Armin sat uncertainly, watching as his fingers folded over the keys and he began to play a song by ear. It was a strangely fast paced, but somber song, the kind that reminded Armin of the jazz age. He watched Eren play, his fingers working from middle C up the scale and music colliding with the air, piano strings vibrating and humming along with his frantic movements. Eren didn't know what he was doing, but it didn't matter, because it was beautiful.

Every note was proof of how talented Eren really was. He didn't do sheet music. He just played, because he could, because he liked it, because it made him happy. Armin watched the fast strikes of his fingers across the ivory keys, darting upward to smash ebonies and then flickering back and forth in a hasty movement, and he almost looked like he was doing this intentionally. Maybe he was. Maybe he'd memorized this song of his.

Eren stopped, and he sat back.

"That's it," he said.

Armin was stunned. He sat, his mouth hung open, disbelief crawling over his features. "It's not finished," he'd said.

"No," Eren said, blinking. "I know. I'm still figuring it out. It changes a lot."

"It was awesome," Armin gasped. "Eren, have you shown that to your piano teacher?"

"It's not what I'm supposed to be doing," Eren said with a shrug. "So no. Hey, do you want to play too? Come on, let's make it a duet!"

"Uh…" Armin said nervously as Eren nudged him, pointing to a higher C key. He placed his fingers there, his thumbs over the C.

"No, no," Eren said, "you're holding your hands wrong. You can't have your fingers flat like that, they'll never move anywhere. They've gotta be curved like this." Eren demonstrated. "Like a spider!"

"Eek!" Armin winced.

"Okay, maybe not a spider, uh…" He drummed his fingers lightly against the keys. "Like when you're catching a ball! You don't want your hand to be flat like this." He banged his fingers against the keys, keeping each of them long and straight. "You want to curl your fingers so the ball stays in your hand!"

"Okay…" Armin curled his fingers. "What's the point of this?"

"I don't know," Eren said simply. "Okay, now try to follow my lead."

"I'm not very—" Armin began.

"Okay, go!"

Armin had immediately fallen behind in Eren's frantic piano playing, but in they end both of them were smashing keys and laughing at how horrible they sounded.

* * *

It was a long night in the hospital. He begged and begged and begged for them to let him into Mikasa's room, and finally near dawn, they did. Jean was home, probably asleep but responsible for collecting some of Mikasa's things, and she was asleep in her hospital bed. He felt like weeping, but he had no tears or emotions left in him. He sat in the seat beside her bed and observed her face. There was a long, narrow cut on her cheekbone that had been stitched shut, and a few small lacerations along her nose and chin and jaw. Purplish bruises stained her once flawless face, and Armin was reminded of years past, anxious for her to awaken so they could talk it out.

There were a lot of things Armin hated about hospitals. The smells, the anxiety, the downtrodden ambience and sense of solemnity that could be found in places like graveyards and funerals. He simply had no taste for staying in a place like this, and yet here he was. He'd never leave Mikasa alone, so this was where he'd stay.

The doctor said that Mikasa got off lucky considering the wreck, which had been salvaged and taken back to Mikasa's garage. She had a broken rib, a fractured wrist, and a concussion. Those were the extremities. The rest was just trauma, and Armin understood that well. What had Mikasa seen to make her brake? Had it been Eren? Had Eren materialized to her, only to make her crash her car? What the hell was with that?

No, Eren wouldn't do that.

But the ghost boy would.

The ghost boy who had tried to light him and Mikasa on fire.

The ghost boy living under Armin's bed.

Armin had to do something about that kid. Would an exorcism be too excessive? No, he couldn't do that with Eren lurking around, that'd be a disaster. Maybe he'd try something else. A paranormal investigator to just confirm that he was not losing his mind to this monster.

Mikasa stirred as the morning light splashed through her window, hitting her face. She squinted at it, and she groaned. When she covered her face with her hands, she saw the IV drip, and she saw the bandages, and she froze in horror.

"Morning, sleepy head," Armin said, relief spreading through him and warming him like a hearth. Mikasa's eyes darted to him, and she dropped her hands.

"Armin," she croaked. Her eyes darted around frantically, before she resigned to her position as a patient in a hospital. "What… what…?"

"You got into an accident," he told her cautiously. "Do you remember at all? The car flipped. A few times."

"What the fuck…?" She sighed, rubbing her face tiredly. "Ow… did I finish the race, at least?"

"Mikasa!" Armin chastised her, shooting her an angry look.

"Whatever," she said, staring up at the ceiling. "As long as the race stopped, and no one beat me, I should be okay."

"Mikasa!"

"I need the money, Armin," she said honestly, glancing at him. "If I don't have enough to pay the bills, Kenny will move back in."

Oh.

That was understandably disconcerting.

"I'll get a job," Armin piped up, suddenly eager and ready to please her. "It's the least I can do!"

"Armin, no."

"I'm an adult," he told her firmly. "I'm almost out of school, and I'm unemployed, so you have no right to tell me I cannot get a job. Also I've been mooching off you for way too long."

"I don't think it's mooching," Mikasa whispered. "I want you here."

"Then let me help pay for the apartment," he said, taking her hand. Both his and hers were bandaged tightly. What a mess they were. He wished Eren were there too. A dead boy, and a broken girl, and a boy without a clue.

"At least I'm not dead, I guess…" Mikasa mumbled, squeezing his fingers. "That's always a plus."

"Don't even joke," he laughed quietly, bitterly into his hand. "Don't ever joke about dying, okay? You can't die on me."

"I won't."

"Promise."

"I won't die," she told him, smiling wanly. "Not when you still need me."

"Not ever."

"Now that's unrealistic."

"I'm sick of realism," he said sharply. "I'm sick of death and being sad. I just want you to stay alive for as long as humanly possible, and be happy."

She smiled wider at him. "I love you," she said, sounding happier than he'd heard her in weeks.

"I love you too," he replied, swinging her hand idly. He imagined Eren's ghostly fingers around his other hand. Then they'd be whole again.

Jean showed up with coffee, which was much appreciated, and he explained to Mikasa that everyone had gotten away before the cops had shown up to Mikasa's car, which had been left on the Strip. He'd told the police that they'd been going to Trost in separate cars when she'd crashed, swerving to miss a small animal. They'd bought it. Especially considering Annie was there to testify to that lie.

"At least I didn't fuck up too badly," Mikasa said, sipping her coffee thoughtfully.

"Besides almost dying?" Jean watched her with wide eyes. "The car almost blew up!"

"Really?" She tilted her head, her hair falling limply across her cheeks. "Damn."

"How are you so calm about it?" Jean asked, looking unnerved. "Christ!"

"Because I'm okay," Mikasa said, "and I don't need anyone to worry about me."

"That shit was scary, Mikasa."

"I'm fine," she insisted.

Jean scowled. And then he glanced at Armin, and looked a little remorseful. "You should go home," he told him. "Get some sleep, okay?"

"What?" Armin shook his head furiously. "Wait, no way!"

"Armin," Mikasa warned. He glanced at her, and saw her face. She looked dangerous and scolding, which was scary enough when she wasn't all banged up. She looked fearsome now. He grimaced, and faltered.

"I want to stay here with you," he insisted.

"You don't need to," she sighed. "I'm okay, and you need rest."

 _I'm scared to go home_ , he wished he could tell her. Instead he nodded vacantly, bunching his cardigan anxiously in his bandaged hands.

He walked, taking his time to gather his thoughts and bearings, and finish his coffee off. The hospital was farther from Mikasa's apartment than, say, the police station, but Shiganshina was still small enough that it didn't take him more than forty minutes. He unlocked the door, wary of his surroundings, and entered the apartment. Firstly, he made sure to feed The Captain, scratching behind the tiny dog's ears as he came running for his breakfast. Secondly, Armin decided to pass out on the couch.

He was exhausted.

He'd never been so exhausted in his entire life.

He felt as though he was being pinned down, and darkness hung over his head, darkness and shadows and a glint of a knife.

He had no will to scream anymore.

Armin woke up breathless, a heavy weight on his chest that crept from his lungs to his throat, and he thought he might begin to cry if he did not move immediately. As he sat up, he came face to face with a flickering boy who was standing silently at the arm of the couch, his green eyes shadowed and his hair sticking to his face. Armin swallowed hard as Eren's form blotted in and out of existence, and he was suddenly hovering at Armin's side, beaming at him.

"You're awake!" he gasped, looking far too pleased for what he had just looked like a second before, standing at Armin's feet as he slept, watching him with a dark gaze and a shaky appearance. "Where have you been? I've been here for hours, but the only one that was here was dumb Horse Face! Does he live with you guys, or something?"

"Yes," Armin mumbled, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. Eren made a derisive little choking noise, throwing his had back and laughing.

"What a joke," he said. "That guy's a total asshole. He's so full of himself!"

"You don't even know him, Eren."

"I've heard him," Eren sniffed. "He's a total first class narcissist. How can you even deal with that? Like, what a pretentious asshole. Who does he think he is, complaining about the under appreciated Disney movies? Armin, he doesn't like Hunchback."

"As someone who has actually read  _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ ," Armin said carefully, "I understand Jean's disdain."

"Okay, let's just ignore the book for a sec!" Eren waved his hands furiously. "The movie! Recognition of racial and religious prejudices! A badass soundtrack!"

"Singing gargoyles," Armin pointed out.

"Hey, I did not say it was without flaw." Eren scowled. "Talk him out of it. Make him take it back."

"Okay," Armin said, though he was certain that was an impossible feat. "Would you like me to change his mind about Pocahontas too?"

"Nah, Disney kinda fucked up with that one."

"Kinda." Armin stretched his arms above his head. "Hey, aren't you dead?"

"Hey!" Eren grinned at him broadly. "You remembered this time!"

"Oh man," Armin groaned. "Don't be so cheerful about it. There's kinda a reason why I didn't want to believe you."

" _Kinda_ ," Eren scoffed, mimicking Armin's voice. Armin scowled at him until Eren smiled sheepishly. "Aw, lighten up."

"Eren," Armin sighed. "Mikasa's in the hospital."

Eren's face fell so fast, Armin swore his skin flitted out of existence, leaving his skull bare for Armin to see for a fraction of a second, a terrible image that burned into Armin's mind. His image flickered subtly, and then rapidly as it sunk in, and Eren disappeared altogether in a blinking snap of motion. Armin sunk into the couch, feeling a little uncertain and scared.

"What do you mean…" Eren's voice curled like smoke inside Armin's ear. "She's in the hospital?"

Armin twisted around in his seat, staring wide eyed into Eren's face. He was very close, his nose only millimeters away, his skin sickeningly pale and flecked with dirt and grime and something dark, something… wet, wetter than the beads of water slipping from his damp hair. Armin's breath caught in his throat. Eren flickered again as his rage dissipated with every moment he stood staring into Armin's terrified eyes.

"I'm sorry," Eren said earnestly. "Do I look bad?"

"No," Armin blurted, flushing in horror of the thought of letting Eren know how scary he really was. "No, no, no, that's not it!"

Eren stared at him vacantly. "You don't have to lie," he said. "I know. It takes a lot of energy to keep up this appearance." He gestured to himself, and he smiled wanly. "The real me isn't someone you want to have long conversations with. I know that much, at least."

"The real you?" Armin asked curiously, sitting on his knees and peering closer at Eren's dark face. It fluctuated between deathly pale and golden brown, cadaverous and radiating health, a visual dissonance that burned Armin's bleary eyes. "So you don't actually look like this. The real you is the one that looks like a corpse."

"Well technically…" Eren joked, a weak grin folding on his lips. Armin watched him, and he ached to touch him, to prove that this was all a lie, that his skin was warm and brown and healthy, that his blood was still pumping and the vein below his ear was still pulsing. Armin's fingers twitched, but the bandages on his fingers kept him from scratching them.

"How did you die, Eren?" Armin asked.

Eren stared at him.

"Oh," he said. He looked down. And then up. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Armin couldn't help but sound irritated.

"I don't remember."

"It's kind of important!" Armin's voice cracked miserably. "How could you forget?"

"It was a hectic night, okay?" Eren shuffled awkwardly, looking annoyed and frustrated. "I don't remember a lot of it. The stuff I do remember, I don't want to. Just leave it."

"No!" Armin leapt to his feet. "No way! You say you're dead, that you died, but you won't tell me how!"

Eren shook his head. "I don't know," he insisted, raising his eyes to Armin's and staring into them, a plea buried deep within his gaze, a plea to stop, a plea to understand. But Armin didn't understand anything. He was too angry. Too confused.

Living in ignorance was not something that Armin could ever do.

"Then I'll figure it out myself," Armin said firmly.

"Armin, no," Eren whispered.

"Don't you dare," Armin said, pointing a finger at Eren's face and taking a deep breath. "Don't you dare. You don't get to do that. Try to convince me to not figure this out. If you don't know what happened, and if you don't want to know, then fine! I won't tell you when I find out."

"Now that's just fucking immature," Eren said, squinting at him. "Why can't you just… leave this alone? If it's really been seven years, then… let's be real here, okay?" Eren's face seemed to crumple a little, his eyes dropping to the floor as his mouth opened and closed, the edges of his lips sticking together and peeling slowly apart as he struggled to speak. Armin watched this, and he felt guilty. "You're the only one still looking."

Armin felt a pang of despair. Eren must be feeling crushed at the thought, at the mere idea that his life could have meant so little to the people of this community. He must feel betrayed. Armin sure did.

"I'm going to figure this out," Armin said firmly. "And you know what I think?"

Eren perked up. His eyes darted wildly across Armin's face, and he tilted his head curiously.

"What do you think?" he whispered eagerly.

Armin glanced behind him. Around the room. He peered into the hall.

Where was that little beast lurking?

"I think this has something to do with Kenny."

"Kenny?" Eren sounded distant. "Creepy Kenny?"

"The one and only."

"You think he killed me?" Eren tilted his head from one side to the other. "That's kinda fascinating."

"I don't know why he'd want to kill you," Armin said cautiously. "But he's certainly not above that sort of thing."

Eren's expression became very dark. "No," he said, averting his gaze sharply. "I guess he's not."

"Tell me," Armin said, turning about in place, his eyes moving around the living room, roving the corners and searching the crevices between furniture. He would not be a victim in a horror movie, and he would not let that terrible little boy sneak up on him again. "What do you know about him?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Armin sighed, glancing at the  _Parables of Sina_ , which he'd left on the table. He was reminded that Eren knew something of this Wall Cult business, and so did Kenny Ackerman. Something here added up, and Armin just knew it. "I mean, you were always closer to Mikasa than I was."

"Don't say that!" Eren looked angry, but not angry enough that his skin rippled. "You're just as close! Hell, she tells you she loves you all the time! She never told me that."

"She probably didn't think she had to," Armin whispered. "Anyway! Not the point!"

"What was the point?" Eren asked impatiently. "That I know something about Creepy Ackerman? Beyond that he was a gross, unstable, pitiful excuse for a human being?"

"Eren, I know you know something," Armin said. The room was so very cold, and Armin could taste the water in the air, the residual dirt clinging to his teeth and lips as he breathed it in. He stared into Eren's eyes, and Eren stared back. Why was he here? If he was really, truly dead, and not some hallucination, why was he still here? "If you don't tell me, I'm going to start snooping."

"What the hell am I supposed to know about that guy?" Eren glowered at the floor. "Just leave it alone. He probably has nothing to do with this."

"What's the Wall Cult?" Armin asked him, feeling along the walls and pressing his ear to one. He heard nothing from within, not a scratch or a sigh. Eren didn't seem to notice his odd behavior. He was fixed on the question.

"The Wall…?" Eren leaned back, looking alarmed. "What…?"

"You put a book on hold at Historia's antique store the night you disappeared," Armin reminded him gently, whirling to face him. "It turns out Kenny had the same book."

"Did he…?" Eren looked even more alarmed, his mouth falling open and his thick eyebrows knitting together. "Armin, look. Listen. I don't know anything. I don't remember what happened that night!"

" _Why_ , though?" Armin growled, shaking his head furiously. He was unable to meet Eren's eye, afraid of what he might see. "What happened? What could have happened to you that was so terrible that you just forgot it happened?"

Armin knew, though.

He knew from Eren's flickering face, golden to pale, dry to dripping, fire-eyed to dull gazed.

Eren had died in Titan's Maw. His waxy skin was perpetually damp, and his lips shocked blue from the vicious cold.

Now. The question was… where was his body?

 _Didn't Historia say once_ , Armin thought dazedly,  _that even Reiner could sink to the bottom of Titan's Maw with something heavy enough?_

The thought was jarring to Armin. It meant that someone must have wanted Eren to sink.

"I don't know," Eren whispered.

Somehow, Armin didn't believe him.

"Did you hate him?" Armin asked Eren sharply.

"What? Kenny?" Eren snorted in disbelief. "Uh, yeah. I still do. I want him to swallow cyanide. Fall into a pit of scorpions. I want him to be ripped to fucking shreds."

Armin could not disagree. "Because he hurt Mikasa," he clarified. "Yes?"

Eren eyed him warily. "What's this about?" he asked. "What does it have to do with me?"

"I don't know yet," Armin sighed, ruffling his hair furiously. "I don't know. Isn't that terrible? Me not knowing." He gave a bitter laugh of disbelief, and he whirled away. He had to think. It was so hard to think with Eren freezing the room over, turning the air stale and frigid, sucking the energy from the atmosphere.

Eren appeared before him, his eyes flashing furiously. Armin could feel his frustration, but it never affected his appearance, never stole away from the mask of wellness that Eren put on just for Armin's sake. He hated it. Let him be a frightening monster of a boy. Let him drip and sigh and moan, drag his nails across the walls and frighten the world with his unbearable nature.

"You're not obligated to know everything," Eren said to him gently. "And… it's probably better that way. You'd be better off, you know, living in ignorance."

"I'm not ignorant," Armin snapped. "And I refuse to let myself be idle while your corpse is sitting out there somewhere, rotting away! Fuck, Eren!" He buried his face in his hands, foolish and frightened and half-feigning his despair. He knew, he knew, he knew. He knew how Eren worked. Just as Eren knew him.

"Quit it," Eren snapped. "I'm fine with being dead, so you need to chill about it. You said it's been seven years. Stop worrying about me." He stared at Armin with softening eyes, his breath stinging the air. "Stop worrying about me…"

Armin shook his head. He shook it and shook it. It wasn't fair that Eren was doing this to him, trying to dissuade him from the truth. It wasn't fair that Eren was dead, and it wasn't fair that Armin had to deal with that. It wasn't fair that he had to accept that his best friend was gone, even if he was standing right beside him.

He had to figure this out, or else he might truly lose his mind.

Truly.

He turned from Eren, not bothering to respond that  _of course_  he worried about him. The boy was dead, dead, dead, gone and decomposing somewhere, his soul left to flicker in and out of existence. Armin hadn't even really known if he'd believed in souls until this point in his life. He was so lost, and he was not prepared for this sort of spiritual fuckery.

He left the room, left Eren standing there, and wandered outside, his bare feet clapping against the cool metal staircase. He needed to organize, and he needed to focus. Firstly, he did not know if Eren's death had been an accident. But considering his body had yet to appear, Armin was leaning toward homicide. Meaning he needed suspects.

His first suspect was Kenny Ackerman.

In the catacombs of Armin's memory, he could see it. The welts. The bruises. The bandages.

He paused as he stood in the middle of Mikasa's garage, staring at his disheveled reflection in the gleaming window of her bent up Camaro. He tilted his head, and the dead eyed boy's neck bent harshly, smacking against his shoulder as though dropped, as though held by a thin string that had been severed quite suddenly. He turned slowly, lifting his cardigan and then his shirt, eying his pale skin as it became bare in the black surface of the window. He watched his own eyes flicker, moving from his round face to the dip of his spine.

There had never been a scar. There had never been a real mark to begin with. It had hurt, certainly, to be struck with a belt, but Armin never bore a scar from Kenny Ackerman's cruelty. Not like Mikasa. Not like Eren. Those two… had always protected him… and now what? One was traumatized and one was dead. And Armin?

He was staring at a scar.

No, not a scar.

A scratch.

He ran his unsteady fingers over the raised skin, and hissed through his teeth when he realized it  _hurt_. This was a fresh wound, a recent graze on his skin that was hardly a cut, and already half a scab. But it was real. It was there.

When had this happened?

He dropped his shirt, rubbing his face and ignoring Eren as he passed by him. He was watching Armin silently, his bold green eyes following his every movement, his face pinched with confusion.

Okay. Suspect one. Kenny Ackerman.

Motive?

Sadism? Rage? He certainly never cared for Eren. There was a cigarette burn on the inside of Eren's arm that proved it. He'd never told his parents, of course, too stubborn and too enraged. He'd wanted to get revenge on Kenny by himself. Armin wondered if he ever succeeded.

He grabbed a hammer from a toolbox sitting on a long metal table. It weighed heavily in his hand.

"What are you gonna do with that?" Eren asked warily.

Armin swung the hammer idly at his side, and he thought about it. Well, he could certainly kill someone with a hammer, but he'd never get away with it. It'd be a sloppy way to do away with Kenny Ackerman, and Armin was many things, but he did not think he was sloppy.

"I'm going to dig up some skeletons," Armin replied, exiting the garage. As he moved to the switch beside the folding door, he noted someone watching him. From the parking lot. Someone was leaning against their car, watching the building with a smile so big that it was blinding. Armin threw a glance behind him at Eren, but Eren was no longer there. Well, shit.

"Excuse me," he called, punching the button and ducking beneath the whirring mechanical garage door as it lowered. "We're closed."

"Oh?" The person was very lanky, dressed in loose slacks and a shapeless blue blazer. Their hair was a complete and utter rat's nest, tied up at the back of their head and knotted messily so strands stuck up and around and fell into their warm hued face. A pair of gleaming eyes watched him from thick framed glasses. "Is it because of the Ackerman girl?"

The hammer weighed heavily at his side. He stared at the person, his eyes widening momentarily before he schooled his features.

"Are you a customer?" he asked warily.

"I'm curious," the person laughed, pushing off their car. They strode up to Armin, offering out their hand. "My name is Hange. I'm a professor at the Uni."

"A professor in what?" Armin asked, genuinely curious now.

Hange beamed at him. "Ah!" they cried, clapping their hands. "I'm so glad you asked! I teach cultural and biological anthropology, but I have a degree in parapsychology. I actually lived here while I was doing my final dissertation."

"Your capstone," Armin clarified. "That's actually what I'm doing right now! Well…" He glanced away from their face quickly. "Not the parapsychology thing. I'm an investigative journalism major."

"Investigative journalism!" Hange's eyes twinkled brightly. "That's a fun field! What's your thesis?"

"Um…" He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. "I'm actually investigating… the disappearance of a boy who used to live here…"

"Oh." Hange's face fell a little. They glanced up at the garage, and they nodded sympathetically. "Man, that's tough. How's it going? How did you even build an investigation out of that?"

Armin wasn't especially surprised that they knew who he was talking about, but he couldn't help but be struck silent. He flushed in embarrassment, and stammered to answer. "W-well…" He swung the hammer at his side, glowering at it, hating himself for his nervousness. "I… I started with the police, checking their investigation and… and going from there…"

"I didn't even know the police did an investigation," Hange said vacantly. "Huh! You learn something new every day, how about that? Well, you should keep me updated on that. They never found a body, right?" Hange was no longer smiling, and they stared up at the garage, their expression somber and hardened. "Do you live here?"

Armin's hands were sweaty. He nodded slowly. "Y-yeah…"

"That's interesting." They glanced at Armin, and they smiled wickedly. "You know, I don't mean to frighten you, but I think your house is haunted."

He was taken aback by their candidness, by their bright smile and glittering eyes. He glanced at the garage behind him, and then back at Hange. "Uh…" he said, his distress causing the pitch of his voice to heighten, breaking apart upon air contact.

"I received a call from your house last night," Hange explained hastily. "At around three am. I answered, of course, because I was awake grading papers— never become a teacher, okay, kiddo? You look like a nice person, and I'd hate to see you lose your head. Anyways, I was grading papers, and my phone rang, and I heard—" They laughed brightly. "Well, the voice was very breathy and small, like a child's. You don't have a kid, do you?"

"No…" Armin felt sick at the thought. "No, I… I… I'm sorry, how'd you know it was my house?"

Hange blinked at him. "I used to live here, remember?" They smiled at him gently. "I knew the number from before… well, you know." Their eyes wandered up to the apartment sadly. "I haven't been in the house since then. Kenny still lurking around, or did he boot it?"

"You know Kenny?" Armin tried not to sound too horrified, but it was too much. He couldn't do it. His voice came out sharp and disgusted, his face contorting and his lips twisting. Hange glanced at him fast, and they shook their head furiously.

"Ah, no, I wasn't his friend!" Hange laughed at that, a boisterous laugh, a forced laugh. "Wow, no, never. That guy needs a hot firepoker shoved down his throat. But I was a friend of Levi's. Oh, speaking of, how is that girl? Mikasa? I only met her once, and she was so tiny—"

"Levi?" Armin cut them off sharply, bemusement spilling into his voice and staining his face. "Who's Levi?"

Hange stared at him. Armin watched their eyes widen very fast, and then avert, and then, in a great swoop of anxious emotion, their entire demeanor changed. They were thinking fast. As was Armin. Levi. Levi? Armin felt like he'd heard that name before, but nothing was clicking.

"You don't know…?" Hange sounded very confused, and they leaned back on their heels. "Whoa. Okay. This just got weird." They checked their phone quickly, and a shrill shriek fell from their mouth. "Ah! Shit, shit, shit, okay, kid, I'm sorry, but I have a class—"

"It's fine," Armin gasped, blinking rapidly. "Also, Mikasa's okay. How'd you know—?"

"Here's my card," Hange said, clapping a tiny retangular paper into Armin's empty fist. "There's way too much to talk about, like I'd need a few hours. And also, I want to have a look at your house to make sure it's actually got activity. What's your name?"

"Armin," he said weakly, lost in this person's bizarre words and hurried pace. He could not understand what they were talking about, because they were thinking faster than him, and they knew something he didn't.

"Armin!" Hange whirled away. "Awesome! Call me if anything weird happens, okay?" They headed toward their car, and as they climbed into it, the paused. "Ah! Also, I want to hear more about your thesis! Like, a lot more! I want your entire investigation!"

"Okay…" Armin glanced down at the card. Hange Zoe, it said. Paranormal Investigator.

Well. Shit.

How did this even happen?

Armin watched Hange drive away, and his fist clenched around his hammer. Fuck. He wanted to smack himself in the face with it.

He was angry because… because…

Because he didn't know anything.

Who the fuck was Levi?

He didn't know a goddamn thing.

Armin trudged up the steps, his bare feet dragging, and he entered the apartment with a newfound sluggishness. However, he was motivated now more than ever to crack this case. He went to his room, swinging the hammer idly and biting the inside of his cheek as he gazed at the painting that had been dancing upon his last nerve for weeks.

He examined his options, and finally decided to just go for it. Subtlety be damned, he was getting to the bottom of this. He used the claw of the hammer to yank the first nail from the corner of the painting, and he stumbled a little as he put the majority of his strength into pulling it from the wall. He watched as it fell to the floor, clattering against the wood, and he took a deep breath and set back to work.

"What are you doing?" Eren asked curiously. He appeared on Armin's bed.

Armin ignored him. Another nail fell to the floor. The painting was growing crooked.

"That's an awful painting," Eren said. "Who even put it there?"

Again, he was silent. He had tears in his eyes. He hated this. He hated this.

Eren was dead.

He hated this.

"Why is it nailed to the wall?" Eren asked.

He hated this.

Who'd kill Eren?

Who'd have the heart and the strength to kill someone like Eren Jaeger?

Who could have possibly done such a terrible, cowardly thing?

Armin hated them.

He hated this.

He dropped the hammer, breathing heavier now as the painting fell askew, and behind it something peeked out, a triangle of gray beneath a layer of glass. Armin shook his head, and he held back his tears. He didn't want to understand this. But he did.

He mustered up his courage and he lifted the painting. It was heavy in his arms, the weight crushing his muscles and bones, his skin folding in itself from the force of it.

Before him, beneath the space were the painting had sat, there was a window. Beyond that, there was a room. That room was Mikasa's.

"What the fuck?" Eren exhaled in Armin's ear, peering over his shoulder and suddenly furious. "No way. No fucking way."

"Suspect one," Armin whispered. "Kenny Ackerman."

"He had a two way mirror installed…" Eren was breathless, and his face was stricken and white, sopping wet and bloodied on one side. "That… that sick fucking  _bastard_ , I'll rip him to fucking shreds!"

Armin leaned his forehead against the wall, his stomach stirring uneasily at the thoughts that surfaced in his mind. He thought he might've been in Miksasa's good favors enough that she'd tell him if Kenny had been sexually abusive as well as physically and verbally, but now he wasn't so sure. What did this mirror mean? Mikasa had known about it, clearly, and had made sure to cover it up when she could. But did that stop Kenny? Could anything have stopped him?

He didn't want to ask her, but after this…? How could he not?

"He was always creepy with Mikasa," Eren mumbled, sinking to the floor. "But not like this, Armin. Not like this."

"Are you denying it, or stating an absolute fact?" Armin peered down at him, his temple resting against the wall and his body slouching in exhaustion. "Some of her bruises… could have lined up with—"

"She would have told me, okay?" Eren snapped at him. "No. We're not going down that road. This…" Eren's gauzy eyes roved upward, searching the two way mirror dazedly. "This hasn't got anything to do with Mikasa. I'm sure of it."

"You're sure," Armin said uncertainly. "Absolutely?"

"Yeah." Eren's bad side, a side where a portion of his skull had caved in and blood had caressed down his neck and stroked his cheekbone, kissing the grooves of his ear and combed through the thick strands of his damp hair. Armin couldn't help but think, under any other circumstance, the pattern would be lovely. "I'd have known, okay? I would never let something like that happen to her."

"Okay," Armin sighed. "Okay, I believe you. But that doesn't explain this. Or… Kenny's connection with you."

"We don't have any sort of connection," Eren said fiercely.

"I just meant that he's a suspect."

"Because of some weird cult bullshit?" He shook his head furiously. "I don't know, Armin! I don't remember being into any of that."

"You could have been tailing Kenny." Armin hung the painting back up, unable to stomach looking through the mirror any longer. Even the creepy painting was far better than this terrible clue. He wandered over to the box, and he picked up Kenny's copy of  _The Cult of Walls._  "I'm still working my way through this, but it looks like there was a lot of weird ritualistic stuff. Most of it was blood magic. Offerings and stuff to old gods who granted power, and stuff like that. Listen to this teaching here!" Armin flipped hurriedly through the stained, bleached out pages. "'Discipline requires pain. Victory requires sacrifice.' It's all about throwing yourself away to do what might be considered "right" on a cosmic level, but not on a human level. The worst part, I can't even tell if I agree with it or not."

"It…" Eren stood up, his brow furrowed. "It doesn't sound wrong. But... also, it's really vague. Pain isn't the only way to achieve discipline, and victory… doesn't require sacrifice… just a person willing to sacrifice." Eren sighed, and he rubbed his head. "I'm so tired. I've been awake too long."

"Go to sleep," Armin said, thumbing through the thin pages. "I'll be here or at the hospital with Mikasa."

"No, you don't…" Eren let out a loud, irritated sigh. "Never mind."

"What?"

"I said never mind."

Armin clapped the book shut, and he tossed it aside. "Kenny's the first suspect," Armin said. "The obvious one. Now we're heading into some risky territory."

"Oh?" Eren asked eagerly.

"Suspect two." Armin stared directly into Eren's eyes. The boy sat eagerly, his appearance flickering jauntily between warm and beautiful and wet and bloody. "You."

Eren's smile fell. He looked horrified for a fraction of a second.

"Tell me," Armin begged, "if I'm wrong."

Eren did not.

He opened his mouth. And then he closed it. His brow furrowed desperately.

"I don't know," he whispered.

That was the entire fucking problem.

No one fucking knew.

Armin hated this.

"It's not a good theory," Armin said, biting his lip. "But it's honestly not something I can rule out, not yet. You were acting really weird that night, Eren."

There were some flaws in this. Why would Eren take Mikasa and Armin with him if he planned on killing himself? Well, it's entirely possible it hadn't been his intention when he'd gone into the forest.

But who really understood Eren?

Certainly not Eren.

"You won't confirm or deny it," he said curtly, feeling despicable as he spoke. "So I'm not ruling it out. You could have killed yourself. It's not unusual. I think about it all the time."

Eren stood. His eyes were wide. His mouth was parted.

"Armin, that's…" Eren faded. Not flickered. Faded. His color was sucked away, and his outline lingered, his lips open and moving slow as he resurfaced dimly. "Not good… stop it."

"Stop thinking about dying?" Armin tilted his head. "That's ironic. Coming from you."

"Oh man, shut up."

Armin smiled at him weakly. "Sorry," he said, feeling squeamish and worn thin. "Was that insensitive?"

"A little."

"I'm really sorry," he said, earnestly this time. He hadn't meant to poke fun at Eren, and dead jokes hadn't been off limits before. Eren had encouraged them until this point. It could be that he was just feeling very uncertain because of the possibility that he had killed himself. Armin didn't like the theory. But he didn't like the idea that someone had successfully murdered him either.

"It's okay," Eren sighed. "I just… I don't know. It's killing me. Pun fucking intended, asshole."

Armin laughed for real, and it felt so nice to laugh, to let it fall away from him and smash the constraints that bound his heart to his chest and to his ribs, the stones falling to his stomach and letting a chain effect run wild, a string cut and a latch sprung and a thousand butterflies set free to bat their wings against the walls of his abdomen.

It was so nice to feel this way again. It had been too long since Armin had felt truly happy.

"I'm sorry," he said as his laughter died away. "All I've been doing is making you sadder. It's not my intention to cause you pain, you know, it's never been. I just need to know."

"But why?" Eren groaned. "Why is it so important? Do you want me to go away that badly?"

"What? No!" Armin could not fathom why he'd ask something like that. "I don't want you to go anywhere!"

"I'll disappear if you figure this out, Armin," Eren warned him, his head lowering to punctuate just how serious he was. "You should listen to me and leave it alone."

"I can't."

"I'm not going to help you."

"That's fine," he sighed. "I just… if the situation was reversed, Eren, what would you do?"

"I'd stop looking," Eren snapped. "If I knew finding out how you died meant I'd never see you again, that you'd disappear forever, maybe move on to some higher plane or be reincarnated or go to hell or just cease to exist entirely, I'd stop. Because I don't want to lose you." Eren folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not angry that knowledge means more to you than sentiment, but fuck, Armin. Give me a break. I don't want to go away yet."

For all it was worth, Armin did not burst into tears. He wanted to. He almost puked right then and there, a sob squeezing his throat like a noose tightening and squeaking as it hung him out to dry. He blinked back the bad thoughts and the painful tears, and he closed his eyes.

"Tell me again," Armin whispered, "to stop looking for your murderer."

It wasn't a warning. It wasn't a threat.

Armin's voice was soft and imploring.

He begged.

He hated this.

And Eren could not answer. Perhaps he was crying too. Armin could not tell, because his cheeks were already slick with moisture.

The doorbell rang, and in a sharp blink, Eren was gone from the room, and the icy air settled for just a moment. Armin exhaled, and he buried his face in his hands, swallowing a rigid sob. It scratched his esophagus on the way down.

He wiped his tears away, hoping he wasn't too much of a mess, and he wandered into the hall. Eren was standing beside the door, waiting patiently, his skin so very warm, and his eyes so very bright, and he smiled excitedly.

"Annie!" he gasped, looking so… very… happy…

Armin just felt sicker and sicker. He opened the door.

"Hey," he said, rubbing his eyes and sniffling a bit. Annie stared up at him, her eyes narrowing. "Hi. Sorry, I… just got up."

"You look like you've been crying." She shoved past him into the house. Typical Annie. "Is Mikasa okay?"

"She's fine," Armin gasped, astonished that Annie cared so much. "She will be, at least. She was pretty banged up, but it could have been worse."

"Good." Annie nodded distantly. "Good. Okay. Go get dressed."

"What? Why?"

Annie glanced at him. Her icy eyes had nothing on the air around them. She even shivered a little, her brow furrowing. "Just get into something presentable that's not completely filthy," she said, rolling her eyes. "We're going to see the Jaegers."

"My parents?" Eren blurted from behind Armin's head, his voice slithering sharply into Armin's ear. "Oh fuck. I don't think I'm ready for this. Oh my god. I think I'm gonna puke."

Armin refrained from reminding Eren that he was dead, so he could not, in fact, puke.

"Oh," Armin said distantly. "Wait, me too? Are you sure that's a good…?"

"Yes," she said, throwing him a sharp glare. "This is for you, so you better get your ass dressed into something presentable quick, because I'm on my lunch break."

"Oh!" He nodded quickly, whirling away from her. "Okay, uh… just stay right there, I'll be super fast!"

"Sure."

Armin ran to his room, closing his door and leaning against it, staring vacantly at his bed and feeling his heart pounding. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. What was he supposed to say to the Jaegers? I'm sorry your son is fucking dead? I'm sorry that I'm looking for his fucking dead body? I'm sorry I was a terrible friend to him? It was just a disaster waiting to happen, especially considering how much they blamed him for what had happened.

 _You're supposed to be the responsible one_ , Carla's distant voice crashed into his brain like a wave upon palisades.  _You know Eren, you know the influence you had on him! Why didn't you stop him?_

It was a question Armin had been asking himself for years.

He stripped off his soiled cardigan, ignoring Eren as he appeared beside him, watching with shadowy eyes and a chilly demeanor. He was on edge, his body flickering so violently that it hurt Armin's eyes to look. He didn't want to see his parents, but at the same time he did, and Armin understood because he was just as scared.

"Annie can't see you," he whispered, bundling his dirty clothes in a ball and tossing them in a basket in the corner. Eren was still watching him. Armin reminded himself over and over that it wasn't weird, that they'd always been like this. Right? Armin hated the feeling of nakedness, but Eren and Mikasa… they'd never been shy with him. He should feel the same. Right?

Ah. Damn. He didn't know.

"No." Eren's voice was smooth and distant. "No, I don't know. I don't know why. I don't know who can see me and who can't."

Armin nodded. He dug through his drawers for something to wear, and he felt Eren lingering very close. He felt him in the air, not existing but not fading, and he was breathing with ice laying itself down on the pale hairs that stood on Armin's neck. He stood, his eyes widening as he felt the cold jolt along his ribs, dragging slow on the protruding bone, and he saw with a vicious clarity the sight of water rushing and he heard a scream so terrible that it rung like a crashing bell inside his ears.

Armin shuddered against Eren's touch, and he lurched away, hugging his arms around his chest, tears stinging his eyes.

"Don't do that!" he gasped, rubbing the bumpy skin where Eren's ghostly fingers had grazed him.

Eren stood sadly. No, he wasn't standing.

He was floating.

Half his body had disappeared, and he was hovering in a vaguely opaque state, looking sad and stark and stupefied.

"You're not eating," Eren whispered. "You fucking— you fucking—!"

Eren erased himself from existence as a knock at his door peeled Armin's soul from his skin.

"Are you okay?" Annie called.

"Y-yeah!" Armin cried, his voice breaking so pitifully that his tears could not be contained, and he rubbed his eyes furiously. "Yeah, I'm fine!"

"I thought I heard you shouting."

Armin sniffled, and he dragged a pair of jeans over his boxers, staring at his bandaged hands and wishing he were someone else. Someone who cared less or cared more. Someone who wasn't smart, who was brave and bright and bold. Someone like Eren.

It took a lot not to start sobbing.

"I'm fine," he called, his voice empty.

Annie didn't respond. He was angry with himself for lying to her, but he couldn't do anything else. He was too good at lying.

He wanted Eren to come back and yell at him some more.

He exited his room hastily, tugging a dark sweater over his head as he bumped into Annie, apologizing half-heartedly as he covered his pallid ribcage.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

She stared at him, her droopy eyes narrowing a bit, and she seemed to deliberate something quickly as she gave him a once over. Whatever it was, she ignored it, and grabbed his arm. It was difficult not to seem jumpy around her, to not seem distant and sad, and he was struggling to school himself. He was falling into old patterns, and she was watching him drown.

He sat in the passenger side of her cruiser, staring down at his bandaged hands which were folded in his lap. She glanced at him as she pulled out of the garage's lot. There was a wall between them, and Armin could feel it thickening. He wanted to be able to talk to her, because she was important to him, and she was known to be a recluse. But he couldn't bring himself to speak.

"You know," she said carefully, unable to meet his eye. She rested her wrist against the wheel, her shoulders tense. "You could have told me this upsets you."

"What?" he blurted, glancing at her sharply. "No—!"

"I know what you look like when you cry," she told him curtly. "Cut the shit."

"Annie…" Armin stared at her desperately. "I… Oh, god. I'm just… sad, I think. I miss Eren a lot."

"We all do."

"I know," he whispered. "I know. It's not… it's nothing. Forget it."

She blinked, her eyes focused solely on the road, but he could tell that she was disappointed and unsure. He wrung his hands, and the barrier between them became a chasm.

They were creatures of habit.

They would never be able to get around how truly awful they were.

He hated this.

He hated all of this.

He should never have returned.

He hated himself so badly for leaving and wanting to leave again.

Annie parked the car, but she did not get out. She turned to face him, and she watched him sternly. "Whatever is really bothering you is your business," she hissed. "But don't fucking cry in front of these people. They've been through enough."

"Yeah." Armin swallowed thickly, and he nodded. Annie's face softened for only a second, her eyes closing tight before she kicked the door open and climbed out, slamming it shut. Armin followed her, hugging his ribs and thinking of Eren's chilly touch, the horror of his fingers passing through skin and bone and dragging through him. The image that struck, the scream that sailed and wailed through his head, on a perpetually looping track.

Annie knocked on the door, and Armin stuck behind her, his head bowed. He heard screams like music notes striking in his head. He heard strings being plucked and struck and rubbed finely with flaxen bows. He heard percussion and friction and strumming. He heard strings snapping under the soul crushing crack of a head and a neck.

He could not take this anxiety.

Eren's death sung like a symphony inside Armin's brain.

Carla Jaeger answered the door, smiling vividly. Her eyes fell on Armin, and the smile was dampened only slightly. Then, quickly, she recovered.

"Oh my," she gasped. "Annie, you didn't say Armin was joining you!"

"It was a last minute thing," Armin explained hastily. "I met up with her, and asked if I could come. If I'm intruding—"

"Oh, don't be silly," Carla said, shaking her head and waving them inside. "I'll just have to make more tea."

Annie entered the house, and Armin reluctantly followed. Nostalgia carved itself into him, and he wanted to pull his skin off. This was difficult. He couldn't swallow _. Don't cry_ , he reminded himself.  _Don't do it_.

He smiled at Carla, wringing his hands behind his back. His heart was not in this. He heard strings in his head, melodies playing striking hard at his chest.

"It's really good to see you," she said to him, sounding genuine and throwing him off guard. "You've gotten so big…"

"I…" Armin blinked rapidly. He had not been expecting such a warm welcome. "I… well, I grew…"

Carla laughed, and she mussed his hair gently, reaching up and smoothing the bangs from his forehead. "Oh," she said, stroking the scar above his brow. "What happened here?"

"I fell," he said, holding back his emotional turmoil. "I hit my head on some concrete. I'm okay, though."

She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth very sternly. "You're still so clumsy," she sighed, smiling at him fondly. "You look very pale. Perhaps Grisha should have a look at you."

"That's not necessary," Armin gasped, waving his hands hurriedly.

"And you, Annie?" Carla led them into the living room, and Armin's eyes fell immediately upong the piano in the corner. "How's police work suiting you?"

"Boring as hell," Annie said. "I mostly handle paperwork. It's gross."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Carla sighed. Armin glanced, and he saw Grisha sitting placidly on the sofa, his legs crossed and the morning paper in hand. "Grisha, look who's here."

Eren's father only resembled him vaguely. His hair and eye color were passed down, but otherwise it was clear that Eren had received his smooth face and dark skin from his mother. So basically Eren could attribute the majority of his good looks to her.

"Armin," said Grisha, folding the paper slowly. His alarm did not reach his eyes. Perhaps he'd read Armin all along. Was he truly so transparent, even after so long? "You've gotten so tall."

"That's what I said!" Carla clapped Armin's shoulder, and she smiled at him so warmly he couldn't meet her gaze. "You've grown into a beautiful young man, you know."

"Thanks…" He flushed, and he rubbed the back of his neck. This was awkward. Annie was watching him, and he found himself turning an even deeper shade of red, mortified at how amused she looked.

"Sit," Carla insisted. Armin did, though he realized a little too late how strange he probably looked. Out of pure habit he took a seat on the floor beside the coffee table, where he'd often ate and chatted with Eren in years past. Annie decidedly ignored him and sat on a couch, folding her arms across her chest and looking rather awkward. "Tea?"

"Uh, sure." Armin sat, watching her pour it, and he thought about Eren. He'd been so distraught upon finding out Armin was going to see his parents. So where was he? Where had he gone? A shudder passed through him as the recollection of Eren's intangible fingertips brushing his ribcage.

"Cold, Armin?" Carla asked him.

"Ah." Armin rubbed his arms sheepishly. "A little. I had a long night, so I'm a kinda exhausted."

"Oh, we saw on the news!" Carla set down the teapot, and she glanced at Grisha. "I was going to visit her today, but Annie called. She said something about… about Eren?"

Armin shot Annie a sharp look, but she took no notice. "Yes, I did say that," she said. "Is Dr. Jaeger in charge of Mikasa?"

"No," he said. "I'm rarely in the pediatric ward. Which, despite her age, is where she's being kept. That was my suggestion, actually."

"You wanted her to be comfortable," Armin murmured, staring down into his teacup. "So you put her around kids."

Grisha smiled, tilting his head. "Very astute," he noted. "Yes, that was my reasoning."

"That was very nice of you."

"She's okay, isn't she?" Carla asked quickly. "I… I haven't spoken to her in nearly a year. I feel so terrible…"

"No, don't," Armin gasped. "She's fine. She'll recover really fast, knowing Mikasa."

"About Eren," Annie said, leaning forward. "I came here because I wanted to tell you that he never had an investigation."

Annie Leonhardt. Ever so subtle.

Their faces reflected just how shitty the situation was.

They were blank. Disbelieving.

"That can't be true, can it…?" Carla sat down very slowly. Grisha said nothing. "The police worked with us during the entire ordeal… they… they helped, didn't they?"

"Maybe they did at first," Annie said. "But as it happened, they stopped. Without putting the proper effort into finding Eren."

"All the case file says is who the witnesses were," Armin piped up, "and the events leading up to Eren's disappearance. Nothing else of value. No suspects or theories. It's as though they didn't  _want_  to find him."

Carla looked very pale, and Grisha glanced at her. He placed his hand on her knee. "Tell me," he said quietly. "Do either of you think my son is still alive?"

Annie stiffened. Armin crumpled.

He hated this.

If he cried now, what would they do? Had they not blamed him from the start? Rejected him for his lapse of judgment?

What had happened that night?

"I see," Grisha murmured. Carla stared at them, her jaw tightening and her eyes hardening. She was furious. He was calm. It was easy to see who Eren took after. "And you're telling us this now, Annie, because…?"

"Armin is doing an independent investigation," Annie explained, folding her hands in her lap. "He is not tied with the police, and therefore he's not restricted to answering to a higher up who might quell that sort of… insubordination." As Annie spoke, Armin began to suspect that she had been snooping around the subject of Eren's disappearance far longer than Armin. "Therefore he's free to actually give Eren the investigation he deserves. It might not mean much, so many years later, but…"

"And you?" Grisha folded his hands over his mouth, watching her from behind his glasses. "What will your role be in this investigation, Annie?"

"I have no role," she said simply. "I'm not connected to Armin or his investigation."

They got the hint. Carla's eyes were filled with angry tears. And Armin? He sat. He thought. Strings were striking hard in his heart, and he heard them and he felt them but he did not understand them. The music had never been something he could read or learn. He'd tried, but he'd never succeeded. Symphonies were coded in his soul, and he could not find the goddamn cipher.

"Is there news, then?" Carla whispered, tears brimming her dark eyes. "Armin? Have you found something?"

He wanted to be snide with her, to snap and scream that she'd blamed him for Eren's disappearance from the beginning, But he was not so cruel, and he was not so bold, and he scratched his bandages and thought. Was there something new? Had he honestly found anything?

Eren was standing behind his mother now, watching her with damp eyes. He flickered, and Armin's breath caught in his throat. How could he even say that Eren was real? He had no proof.

Eren could very well be a shuddering figment of Armin's wavering imagination. Reality? Reverie? Armin slept so little and dreamt so much, it was hard to say if Eren was not just some nightmare bleeding into the land of the wakened.

"I…" Armin pressed his lips together thinly. Eren's eyes met his, and there was a jolt of cello strings screeching against a flaxen bow. Eren had never played the cello. He'd played the piano. Piano strings didn't screech. They bellowed.

"Tell her why I left the house that night," Eren said, his voice a musicbox of melody. Every word struck the air with a shrill, sweet note. "Tell her that I went to kill myself."

 _But that's not true_ , Armin wanted to say, his eyes flashing wide as he squeezed his hands tightly.  _That's wrong! Right? Right?_

"Stop looking like you're gonna puke," Eren sighed. "It's not true... Just tell her so she… so she stops worrying. If she thinks I killed myself, sure she'll… she'll be sad. But she'll get over that. She's waiting for me to come home, Armin." Eren strolled through the coffee table to stand at Armin's back, crouching down beside him and tilting his head. "Well here I fucking am. What good does that do anyone? None. I'm dead. What does it matter how it happened?"

Armin couldn't respond of course, that'd be too suspicious, and no matter the struggle of the words against his throat, strangling him and clawing him, he could not spit them out.

He jumped to his feet. It wasn't fair of him to steal hope from the Jaegers. If he could not crack this case, if he could not dredge up the secrets that had died with Eren, then who was he to take the last shred of light from these people, that last little wish for a happy ending?

Eren's words made sense, but Armin could not and would not oblige. He was a liar, sure, but he'd bury himself before her buried Eren under this fabrication.

"For right now," Armin said, turning from them, unable to look them in the face, "it's a matter of retracing Eren's steps. That's why I'm here." Eren was so close that he was sapping Armin's energy away, dragging him from his very skin by being in the air that he breathed. "I want to know Eren's behavior before he disappeared."

"You were there," Eren said from his place on the floor. "You know how I acted."

"Oh," Carla gasped, glancing from Grisha to Armin. "Well… he was very… moody, you might say. But you knew him, Armin, you know what he was like. He had a hair trigger temper, but it was… always for good reason…"

"Did Eren get angry that night?" Armin asked eagerly. "He never said. All he said to me was that he wanted to show me something in the woods."

"That doesn't sound like something Eren would do," Grisha observed. "He was very straight forward."

"Was I?" Eren appeared behind his father, staring down at him and frowning. "Maybe compared to you. Cryptic, lying, son of a bitch."

Armin decidedly kept his gaze away from Eren. "Eren could be secretive when he wanted to be," he said. "Let's not forget about how long he kept Mikasa's secret."

"Mikasa's secret?" Annie straightened up.

Eren looked at her. "Tell her it's none of her business," he said sharply.

"It's none of your business, Annie," Armin said quietly, unable to meet her eye.

She did not reply. If she was hurt she did not show it, if she was angry she let it die. Armin closed his eyes. He'd yell at Eren later for this.

"It's true," Carla pointed out. "Eren may have been outspoken, but he kept so many things from us…"

"Armin," Grisha said, "are you aware that Eren saw a doctor about a nervous condition?"

Armin did not like the wording choice there. His eyes narrowed. Eren was no longer by his father. Armin didn't know where he was. Annie just watched the scene unfold.

"That's an odd way to put it," Armin said carefully. "What does that mean?"

Carla sighed, shaking her head. "Eren was having trouble sleeping," she explained very hastily, so Grisha could not intervene. "He had… ah, not nightmares… but…?"

"Night terrors," Grisha said.

"Yes! Right, night terrors. Oh, and he was so bad with sleep walking… he had medication, of course, he just…" She shrugged very meagerly. "It wasn't really his fault, he was absentminded when it came to things like taking his vitamins in the morning. He remembered sometimes, sometimes I had to remind him. Some days he just went without."

"He never told me," Armin whispered. For all the times Eren had slept over, how had Armin never noticed?

"It was never a… a big deal, honestly," she said, blinking rapidly. "It was just the way Eren was, and it got to the point where we didn't think it was abnormal to find him outside in the middle of the night digging a hole or curled up in his closet, not really understanding what was going on, it was just…" She shook her head. "It happened. I won't pretend it didn't. And… I won't pretend like it's not possible that Eren wasn't fully awake the night he disappeared. Grisha and I tried to enforce the rule about medication— oh, not just for Eren, but for all of us and our various health issues. But we wanted to give Eren the freedom… and responsibility to know to take care of himself."

This was definitely something new that Armin had to take into account. He was angry it hadn't been in his file.

He was bitter he'd never been told.

"Thank you for telling me," he whispered. "I had no idea. It… definitely will give me a better idea of what was going on that night. Was Eren ever lucid when he had his night terrors? Did he ever talk to you?"

"Hardly," Grisha said quietly as Carla piped up, "Sometimes."

It was clear who Eren had favored.

"Like what?"

"Oh, such weird little things…" Carla pursed her lips. "I can't remember that well. Oh, but there was one time where he talked about Mikasa. Just, nonstop, he asked me if she was okay." She laughed at this now, but Armin felt a squirming in his stomach because he felt that fear of Eren's plainly.  _Was_  Mikasa okay?

"Okay," Armin said. "Good to know."

Why had Eren wanted him to tell them that he'd killed himself? What would that have solved?

"Does anyone use that piano anymore?" Armin blurted. He'd been eying it from the moment he'd stepped into the room, memories prickling his tarnished soul, and he found himself wandering to it. Nostalgia hurt like a bitch.

"Oh…" Carla sounded distant. Hazy. Where had Eren gone off to now? "No. Not since Eren… ah, even before that. He hardly ever played after he quite lessons."

Annie twisted in her seat to watch him as he sat at the bench. He'd never been good at piano. He'd never had an ear for music, and he'd never been able to hold a tune. But he felt compelled to sit, to place his fingers on the smooth ivory keys, and to listen to the percussion sounds of his coiled heartbeat.

"Armin," Annie said cautiously.

He placed some meager pressure on the middle C, and the note cried as it smashed through the air, a hammer striking a string, a heartbeat colliding with a rib. Armin grimaced. He stared at the indented key, and the keyboard smiled a gap toothed smile up at him. Symphonies were not for him. His mind could pull apart the technique and the pulse of each instrument as they melded together into one cohesive tune.

Why hadn't Eren told him about the night terrors?

Why hadn't Mikasa told him about Kenny's abuse?

Why didn't he speak up, and let the truth of his own head spill out for all to see?

They were so close, and they loved each other so much, but it didn't matter.

They could never bear the burden of forcing their hardships onto someone else.

"C sharp, now," Eren whispered at his back. Armin jolted, and released the key. It clicked heavily back into place. He didn't dare look behind him. He knew they were all watching him.  _Eren's here_ , he wanted to scream at them.  _He's been listening the entire time_.

He hit C sharp, but it didn't sound right to him. Too shrill, too short, too much noise and not enough. It was a terrible sound. He couldn't do this. What had he been thinking? All he'd wanted was to remember something happy for once. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He couldn't even pretend that this wasn't his fault, he'd gotten himself into another glorious mess.

"Oh man," Eren muttered, his chilly presence seeping into the skin at the back of his neck. He reached around him carefully, and Armin stared with large eyes as Eren's cold cheek brushed his, no real feeling to his skin but icy air radiating from every pore, and the salient image of rocks and water. It was the feeling of unfeeling, the energy of Eren's soul crashing upon him. He'd never been this close before, at least not in a non-corporeal state. Armin watched Eren's dark hands, for even in death he seemed to have more color, more depth, more life than Armin ever could have. "You're kinda hopeless."

 _Thanks_ , Armin thought, swallowing his reply.

"Okay," Eren said, resting his hands on top of Armin's. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the bad things, but watching the flashes and the rushes anyway. "Let's try something. You okay with experimenting?"

Armin wanted to laugh, but he already felt too bizarre, so he merely nodded and let it happen as it happened. Eren's fingers disappeared as they melted into Armin's and the sensation was like sticking his fingers in a revolving fan and watching as his hand was slowly devoured from fingertip to wrist. It was vividly painful at first, but then, in a stark moment of breathlessness, his fingers were numb. And they were moving.

As Eren struck the keys of the piano through Armin's jittery hands, Armin realized something. This would be the closest he ever got to touching Eren again.

Ever.

Death was cruel but life was crueler.

The sound was too much. Chords blew Armin away, leaving him bare boned and breathless. Eren didn't know what he was doing, that was clear with the way he fumbled with the keys, but he was laughing in Armin's ear, his chin sinking into Armin's collarbone, and he laughed some more in utter joy.

He was filled was a crippling sadness when he realized that they would never hear Eren so happy again.

When he stopped, it was because Eren could not hold his hands inside Armin's skin any longer, and he stuttered like a small voice, his entire body flickering in a strobe light motion for a moment before he sunk away into the air, devoured by the light and the shadow. Armin's numb fingers were trembling against the polished white keys. Tears prickled his eyes.

How unfair.

He sunk into a slump, and imagined how incredibly strange he must look.

A hand brushed his back, real and warm, and a sob left his lips before he could stop it. Carla Jaeger rubbed his back gingerly.

"Eren taught that to you, didn't he?" she whispered, her eyes watery and dim. She smiled down at him, but Armin didn't feel very much like forcing his facial muscles to do a dance that they were weary of. He could not smile when he was so inexplicably devastated. "It's okay Armin. We all miss him."

 _You don't understand_ , he thought wildly, his head bowing in shame.  _He's dead. He's dead, and I don't know why, and I feel responsible for that. It's all my fault, isn't it? Tell me that again, please, please, please, tell me it's my fault, because I'll believe you!_

But Carla Jaeger no longer blamed Armin for her son's disappearance. He could feel it in her stare, in her faint touch, and he wanted to scream.

"Armin," Annie said, "I have to head back."

"Yeah," he said. His voice was dead, and his heart was oozing from his grief. "Yeah. I'm coming." He lifted himself from the bench shakily, blinking dazedly at Carla as she held his shoulders. She was studying him quizzically. He nodded to her gratefully, and he shook Grisha's hand, and he hid behind his large eyes and parted lips to make them see some child that they'd known forever ago. He wasn't that little boy anymore, no matter how much he wished it.

Annie did not speak to him on the way back to the apartment. Her eyes were glued to the road. Finally, she parked, and she turned to face him with sharp eyes.

"You're hiding something," she said.

He stared into her harsh, pretty face, and he did not respond. He exited the car and did not look back. The chasm between them became a ravine, and a waterfall spilt across the gap, spitting and raging and swallowing up any remnants of geniality. They were creatures of habit, and he'd never opened up to her before, so why start now?

 _I can't do this_ , he thought, resting his head back against the closed front door, staring into the dimly lit hall and taking deep breaths to keep himself from crying.  _I honestly can't do this, I can't solve Eren's fucking murder, I just can't!_

Thinking about Eren being dead made him want to wash the lies from his mouth with bleach.

He wandered to his room. He peered under his bed. He whistled. The Captain barked from the kitchen. Armin shook his head in disbelief, and he rubbed his eyes, checking his phone blearily. Jean had called him twice. He'd sent a bunch of texts too. Most of them were asking if he'd eaten, and if he was planning on coming back to the hospital before Mikasa was released later that night.

Armin tossed the phone onto his bed, and his heart bled a melody that he could not comprehend, percussion and strings, fucking cello bows striking the grooves of metal cables and spitting smooth, sharp, screeching scores of songs.

He dragged the box of books from his closet and emptied it onto the floor.

"I can hear you," he called when the scratching began. It stopped immediately. He shook his head and stacked the books order of relevance. Some of them were stolen library books, others were bought at yard sales, others brand new, some were torn up and some written up and some cut up with scissors and missing chunks of sentences.

Eren had been into this Wall Cult business, for whatever reason. Suspect two. Eren Jaeger.

He'd said he'd killed himself. And then he said he hadn't.

What was a lie and what was a truth?

"Sacrifice," Armin murmured, glancing up at the ceiling. "Order."

A loud crash peeled his skin from his muscles and tore his heart from his chest, only to punching it back into his stomach. He might've broken his back twisting to face the wall behind him, staring with wide eyes at the window that was now bare to him, the painting of Isaac and Abraham lying on the floor on its side.

He pushed himself to his feet, tilting his head. Sacrifice. Order. Nature. Fuck? This was so weird.

When he wandered to the window, he saw into Mikasa's room. Her closet door was open. It hadn't been the last time Armin had checked, had it?

God fucking damn it, was he going to be  _that_  stupid kid in horror movies?

Wait. He already was.

Oh well.

Armin went into Mikasa's room, nudging the door open and glancing at her mirror. She'd taken down all the pictures and decided to decorate the walls with them instead. Armin shivered. The room was even colder than the rest of the house. Was this where that little boy hung out, then? Mikasa's room?

"Hello?" Armin felt like an idiot. This was the worst thing to do in a situation like this. He had the urge to call Eren's name. But he knew it wasn't Eren. "Mind if I come in…" Armin fingered at a glass ballerina figurine sitting on Mikasa's dresser. "Or… something…?"

No reply. Great.

Armin hadn't been in Mikasa's room for a while. He considered for a moment that he was intruding. To make himself feel better he began opening her drawers, tugging out comfy clothes she could wear when she was released from the hospital.

As Armin shuffled through her clothes, he found himself not really looking for an outfit for her, but searching. His suspicions got the better of him. He slammed a drawer shut and started on a new one, his jaw tight and his breath short. He didn't want this. He didn't want to be this person.

What was he even looking for?

"Nice," Armin muttered as he unfolded a gun from a sock. He folded it back up and stuck it where he'd found it. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, slamming another drawer shut and leaning back on the heels of his hands. He was missing something.

Mikasa, Mikasa. She didn't just leave things lying around, but she wasn't meticulous like Armin. So where would she hide something?

He leapt to his feet. He ran to her dresser, lifting Mikasa's ballerina figurine and setting it aside. There was a square wooden jewelry box beneath it. He dragged it closer, and hesitantly opened the lid. He held his breath as he peered inside it, and realized he'd done it.

He pulled a folded up scrap of paper from beneath the tangled vines of gold and beads and silver and pendants. She didn't have much. They were mostly gifts.

Armin unfolded the paper carefully, his heart thundering in his chest, and he could hear a pedal being pushed, echoes of notes bleeding into new ones and it was all a mess of melodies that pounded and stuttered.

The handwriting was messy and thin.

 _I can't do this anymore_ , it said.  _I can't do this. I can't live like this. I'm done. Good fucking bye_.

Armin blinked rapidly. He turned the note over, but that was all.

It wasn't Mikasa's handwriting. Hers was thin, but neat and easily recognizable by the swoop of her m's and r's, which were perpetually uppercase. This handwriting was rapid and sharp, lowercase everything. Blots of ink stung certain letters, staining the mouths of n's and v's and y's. Whoever had written this had been in a hurry. Or, maybe, in distress.

It wasn't Eren's handwriting. It wasn't Mikasa's. So… whose was it?

Something sailed past Armin's head and collided with the wall, a soul crushing bang that rocked the entire room and left a dent in the sheetrock as a faded red ball dropped down onto the dresser and knocked over the glass ballerina, whose pretty face caved in and smashed into pretty painted pieces.

He whirled around, his heart thudding inside his throat. In the doorway of the open closet, a man stood.

He was soaked head to toe.

Red, red, red, so sickeningly red.

Armin swayed. He could see the man's eyes beneath the gore. They were shadowy and emptied of life.

He opened his mouth, and Armin saw his gleaming white teeth beneath the streams of blood.

"Get out," he said. His words shot through Armin's skill like two bullets scrambling his brains. He didn't move.

The bloodied man cocked his head. Armin's eyes widened as he flickered, and appeared very suddenly before him, the stench of something rotting burning his nostrils. The blood was caked to the man's skin, and dirt was smeared across his neck and legs and staining whatever clothes he might've been wearing, which were now torn and ragged.

"Get out," he said again, this time in a harsher voice, and the sound was splitting. Armin didn't know what was happening, but he felt it like he felt thunder in a storm. It ran him through, and caught in his lungs.

"No," he blurted, clutching the note to his chest. The man's eyes flashed, and he flickered again. For a moment, the blood disappeared. For a moment he looked a little lost and confused.

He slapped Armin across the face.

Backhanded him with a bloody fist.

Armin felt it.

Blood ran hot down his cheek, and unable to contain his terror any longer, Armin buckled. He screamed.


	8. Chapter 8

**the girl who does not know herself**

The one thing Eren and Armin had been in their childhood for certain was independent. They'd run across their town and torn it up on their own terms, never once faltering, never once scared. Armin knew he'd lost that confidence someone along the way of growing longer limbs and losing a friend. He was saddened immensely by the idea that he might never be that little boy again, the one that whispered ideas into someone's ear and watched them unfold into grand catastrophes. He'd enjoyed it. Being a carefree, genius child.

Before Mikasa, they'd roamed without purpose. Eren wanted to find things, to know things, to understand. Armin was just as starving for information, so they ran and hunted for interesting little facets of knowledge to keep them sated. At one point they'd been trying to find a legendary dagger that had been lost in the woods some few centuries back, something to do with sacrificial offerings that no one actually believed. But they were told the stories anyway, because what child didn't like a spooky tall tale about a haunted town?

"What d'you think we should do with it?" Eren asked, climbing onto a big rock and then grasping a branch above him, swinging idly to and fro. "When we find it? Bring it to the police?"

"What would the police do with an old dagger?" Armin had kicked a stone over, watching little ants squirm in fright as their home was disturbed. "I say we keep it or give it to the Shiganshina Historical Society."

"Eugh," Eren moaned, dropping down to the ground. "My dad's part of that."

"Then maybe we should give it to him?" Armin offered as Eren passed him by. "What'd we do with an old knife anyway?"

"Well, I don't know!" Eren puffed out his cheeks indignantly. "I just don't like the idea of my dad getting it. He'd probably just hide it in the basement with all of the other cool stuff he collects." He rolled his eyes, and he shoved his tiny fists into the pockets of his jacket. "Crap, it's cold. Are you cold?"

"I'm okay…"

Eren sniffed, and he shrugged. "I guess we should head back, though," he said. "I've got my piano lesson and my ma, she'll…" Eren grimaced very suddenly, his face twisting in terror. "I really don't want to make her angry."

"I can't imagine your mother angry," Armin had laughed, bumping into him as they attempted to find the dirt path once again, the bumpy terrain of the forest causing Armin to shift and slip. Eren grasped his arm very gently and led him along a steep slope.

"She's like," Eren sighed, "really, really scary. Really scary. Don't ever make her mad, okay?"

"Okay, then."

"Where d'you think it'd be, anyway?" Eren craned his neck to look up at the sky beneath the swollen canopy of red leaves. Autumn had fallen upon them in a swift, breathless motion of wind and frost. "An old knife probably wouldn't be just lying around just anywhere, like people had to be smarter than that way back when, right?"

"I'm not sure," Armin said. "But I think there would be an alter, or something, you know? That kind of thing. Maybe the dagger would be there."

"We'll find it tomorrow," Eren said firmly, stretching his arms above his head. "Definitely!"

"Yeah!" Armin agreed, though he didn't truly believe it.

They found the path and skirted alongside it. Eren plucked up a stick and swatted Armin's hair with it, his eyes bright and challenging. "Let's play pirates!"

"Eren," Armin said, holding his hands up in surrender. "You have piano. Remember?"

"Yeah… but still!" Eren grinned and he kicked another stick into the air, catching it and shoving it in Armin's face. "Just a quick game!"

"You know pirates aren't good people, right?" Armin held the stick uncertainly in his hands. "They pillage and burn and steal. Not nice."

"We'll be  _good_  pirates!" Eren raised his pretend sword into the air, stabbing at the sky. "We'll be like, like Robin Hood pirates!"

"Eren, we have to go home…" Armin peered up at the sky. It was getting very late, and the clouds were dyed yellow and red and a pink-scorched-brown.

"We'll get home in time, okay?" Eren looked a little irritated, and he swung his twig. Armin shrieked, ducking and dropping his stick, stumbling back. Eren stopped, looking confused. "Armin, I don't think you get the point of the game."

"I don't want to fight you," Armin had mumbled, rubbing his dirty hands on his jeans. "Let's not play pirates. Let's just go home."

Eren stared at him for a long time, and in the sinking, burning sunset, the light dying from the sky and shadows sinking through the trees, he looked sorrowful. "Okay, Armin," he said, dropping the stick. "Let's go home."

It was a relief to say the least, but Armin now felt guilty for manipulating Eren into doing exactly what he wanted. It wasn't fair. All Eren had wanted to do was play, but Armin had to be the president of the No Fun Club. No play pretend for him.

They hurried through the woods, jumping over rocks and overturned trees, listening to the distant roar of the river as they neared its bank. They hurried past a dilapidated old shack, sounds of wind and water and distant tires scuffing roads pounding inside their brains as twigs and leaves crunched under their tiny feet. Eren pulled him along, his determination forcing him forward while Armin kept back, watching with careful eyes and listening with careful ears.

"Did you hear that?" Eren asked suddenly, pausing mid-step. Armin had not. He'd been focused on getting back to the road before Eren got in trouble. He turned around, squinting through the dim light, but only seeing the twisted silhouettes of trees and the old shack in the distance.

"What?" Armin asked, peering at his friend curiously.

"I…" Eren leaned back, looking startled. "Crap. I dunno. It sounded like, like, um…" He snapped his fingers impatiently. "A jackhammer? I dunno."

"A jackhammer?" Armin tried to listen further, but the wind was stinging his poor little ears, and he didn't like it. He shook his head. "No, I don't hear it."

"Huh." Eren tilted his head back. The wind beat at his hair, thick brown strands fluttering playfully around his cheeks and curling across his bold green eyes. "Maybe I'm wrong."

"Yeah, maybe—" Armin cried out in alarm as Eren started forward into a sprint. "Hey! Eren, come on!"

"I'm just gonna check it out for a sec, okay?"

"A sec. You think I actually believe that?" Armin scowled, his fingers clenching at his side. "Eren!"

"One sec!" He disappeared amongst the trees, his green hoodie blurring amongst the shaky branches and shadowy bark. Armin groaned, standing awkwardly by himself near the outskirts of the forest, and he stamped his foot impatiently. He didn't understand why Eren was so stubborn.

"Eren!" Armin bellowed through his hands. Nothing. He shook his head furiously. If Armin just stayed and waited, Eren would find him there. But if Armin left…

He toyed with his hair, squinting through the shadows and the streaming red sunset, and he huffed. He hated waiting. He wanted to go after Eren, but if he didn't find him, then what? He'd be lost in the forest after dark, and that'd be horrible. So Armin decided to do something that he instantly regretted.

He left.

He didn't go very far of course, he kept to the outside of the forest, peering into the trees for any sign of Eren's green hoodie, but he could not bear to stand in the same place for too long, and he could not fathom going deeper into the woods when he could hardly see where he was stepping. There was a road beside the trees, so he paced a strip of it anxiously, going into the woods and coming back out in a daze, utterly trapped in his own terrible mind. He whistled, but no one replied.

"Eren!" Armin called, entering the forest. No one answered. He left the forest, standing on the edge of the road and breathing heavily. What if Eren got lost in the dark? Crap. Crap! "Eren!"

But Eren wasn't responding to his name.

What could Armin do?

He stood on the edge of the road, and he heard the distant scrape of tires against asphalt. He squinted, and he could see the distant haze of headlights. He shook his head. It was a terrible idea. It was mean, and it was dangerous.

He turned his head, and he screamed as hard as he could, desperate for his friend to just answer, just once, " _EREN_!"

He gave it ten seconds. And then he ran into the road.

Firstly, it was still bright enough that he knew the driver would be able to see him. He wasn't trying to get hit. He didn't think he would. Secondly, Armin was angry at Eren for running off and angry at himself for not following. This was a hasty way to retaliate at both of them.

Armin made a show of it. He screamed.

His little voice echoed off the trees and bounced shrilly into the dulling red twilight. The scream was coupled by the blare of a car horn that shook the earth and the sky, and he stumbled back and back and back and back as tired screeched, and in terror of his own mortality, Armin tripped onto his back, struck by how awful he was. His palms scraped painfully against the road, and he gasped and shook and shielded his face as the car swerved to miss him.

He was crying when Eren's voice finally broke through the trees, panicked and pleading, "Armin!" He appeared from somewhere in the shady woods, tripping over himself to get to into the road. He looked frantic, panicked, and furious beyond belief. "Are you okay?" He grabbed Armin's arms, kneeling beside him and staring at his tearful face. "Are you okay? What the heck happened, I was just… I wasn't even gone that long, what the heck, Armin? Armin?" He glanced at his bloodied hands, and he cradled them gently. "Can you get up? I'm gonna take you home, okay? Okay?"

Armin nodded hurriedly, as if in a daze, but truly not trusting his voice to not give away that he'd done this intentionally to draw Eren out of the woods.

A door slammed. Armin jumped, and he clung in terror to Eren's sweatshirt, hiding his face in Eren's bony back as he turned to face the driver. His plan had worked, but at what cost? He didn't want to face the person who almost ran him over! He'd just been using them!

"What the hell are you kids doing in the middle of the fu— the freakin' road?" The driver sounded furious, but his voice stayed level. Armin shook against Eren, and he mumbled that they should go, they should really go.

"Why didn't you look where you were going?" Eren snapped back. "You could've killed him!"

"He ran out in the middle of the road," the driver retorted. "Maybe I should've hit him. Taught him a lesson."

"What?" Eren cried, jumping to his feet. Armin squeaked reaching for him feebly. Why had he done this? Why did he have to be like this? Why couldn't he have just gone to get Eren instead of luring him out with a scream? "Are you serious? What kind of person hurts someone to teach them a  _lesson_? What is  _wrong_  with you? What the— what the hell!" Eren's voice raised and snapped like the wailing wind. "It doesn't matter why he was in the middle of the road, you don't say shit like that, you just don't! You don't do that!"

"Kid…" the guy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Armin squinted at him through the darkness, but he couldn't see his face in the glare of the headlights. "God, okay. Calm down. It was joke."

"You make shitty jokes!"

"Yeah, I know." The man sounded very irritated. "Where the fuck are your parents?"

Red flags raised in Armin's head. He knew not to speak to strangers. "J-just across the street," he gasped. "We were just going home. Come on." He leapt to his feet, tugging Eren's arm. But he wouldn't budge.

"You need to apologize," Eren said fiercely. "Right now. Apologize to Armin."

"That's not necessary!" Armin yanked at his elbow. "Come on… please, Eren, leave this alone…"

"Not until this bastard apologizes!"

"Not fucking likely, brat," the guy said, climbing back into his car. "Listen to your dumbass of a friend and go home."

Armin shrieked as Eren stepped in front of the man's car, planting his hands firmly on the hood.

"Apologize," he snarled.

"Eren!" Armin clapped his hands over his mouth, tasting blood and dirt.  _Oh god, oh god_ , Armin thought, fresh tears spilling hotly over his fingers.  _Please stop, please stop, I didn't mean it, I didn't mean to make this happen_. Next time he'd really need to account for Eren's temper before planning.

"Move your ass, kiddo," the guy warned. "Or I'll make you a pancake."

"Like hell." Eren stared levelly into the windshield. "You wouldn't do it. You swerved to miss Armin, you're all talk. So talk. Apologize  _right now_!"

"Apologize, Levi," a voice from inside the car said vacantly. "You're the one at fault here, and you know it."

"Tch…" For a moment, Armin thought the man was going to apologize. But instead, he backed up the car, and Eren stumbled as his hands met the air. Armin quickly caught him around the waist before he fell flat on his face.

"Hey!" Eren cried, lurching at the car as it drove around them. "Hey! Stop it! You— you asshole! You can't even say you're fucking sorry? You—! You—!" Armin clung to him as hard as he could, his nails digging into Eren's sides and his heels scraping the ground as he tugged Eren back. "Fuck!"

"Eren," Armin breathed. "He's gone. Just forget it."

"I'm not gonna forget this," Eren breathed. "Not now, not until that mean little guy apologizes to you!"

"I don't care," Armin blurted. "I don't care at all! You're the one angry about it!"

"Because he could've hurt you real bad!" Eren gritted his teeth, and shot him a sharp look. "Do you not care about that at all? You could've died!"

Armin swallowed hard. This was so difficult.

"It was scary," he admitted. "But it was my fault, not his. Just drop it, please, Eren,  _please_."

Eren glowered at the ground. He said nothing. He refused to speak again until he told Armin that he was skipping his piano lesson to help him wash the blood and dirt from his skinned palms.

* * *

Armin stood in the bathroom, scrubbing furiously at his cheek. The blood wouldn't go away. It just wouldn't. It was caked on, and he was scared, he was so scared, he was so, so, so scared, and it wouldn't go away, the voice and the face and the feeling of a fist against his cheek. I _don't understand, I don't get it, someone please explain_ , he pleaded to the universe, but received nothing in reply.

Finally he realized that there was no blood.

He peered at his cheek, which was swollen and raw, and he cupped it gingerly.

Unbelievable.

"H-hello?" Armin sniffled, plopping down on the floor and leaning back against the tub. He held his cell phone in his shaky fingers, and a business card sat before him on the stark white tile. "Hange Zoe?"

" _Yep, this is they. Who might this be_?" They sounded just as chipper on the phone. Armin rubbed his cheek, and he glanced at the goosebumps which had formed on his arms.

"It's, um. It's Armin. You gave me your card this morning?"

" _Ah_!" they cried, snapping their fingers. "Right! Armin. I honestly didn't expect you to call so soon. What's up? Anything spooky?"

"Uh…" He was breathless. "You could say that, um… I… I got punched. In the face. By a guy covered head to toe in blood. And I'm really, really scared. I didn't think it'd get this bad, but it's bad. It's so bad. I'm terrified to leave the bathroom."

" _Don't hang out in the bathroom, silly_!" Hange laughed. " _Have you never seen a horror movie before_?"

Armin sat frozen in terror. He turned his head slowly to peer inside the tub, but there was a curtain shielding it from view.  _Nope_ , he thought.  _Not gonna do it._

It was so fucking tempting though.

The idea was killing him. The thought had settled in his brain, that maybe the man or the child was there, watching, listening, waiting. The fact that it could be, that it might be, was scarier than knowing for sure, and that's what kept him from checking.

"So… where should I go?" he choked. "I don't know what to do, I can't just hang out in my room and pretend it didn't happen!"

" _Please calm down_ ," Hange said. " _Don't let it get to you. I think you have a real nasty haunting on your hands, and honestly the worst thing you can do is feed it your fears. You seem like a level headed kid. If it's bothering you that much, stay at a friend's for the night_."

 _I can't_ , he thought.  _Mikasa's coming home soon, right? Right? What will I say to here? What do I do?_ Truthfully, Armin wasn't prepared for such an encounter. He could hardly stand speaking to Hange. He held his cheek, his eyes watering, and he shook his head.

"I don't know," he whispered. "I don't know."

" _Are you comfortable sleeping there_?" Hange asked gently. " _That's what's important_."

He took a deep breath, rubbing his bruised cheek and feeling that the world was tipping, tipping, tipping upside-down. His heart was pounding very hard and his breathing was still uneven, and no matter what he thought of, not Eren's face, not Mikasa's, not even his grandfather's, he could not shake this feeling that something was watching him, waiting, waiting, waiting.

"I don't think I am," Armin breathed, running his fingers through his hair. "I can't… I can't think right now."

" _Go to a friend's_ ," Hange suggested. " _I'll swing by in the morning, okay_?"

"Okay," Armin mumbled. "Um, thanks, Hange. Professor Hange. Thank you."

" _Don't even worry about it_ ," they gasped. " _I'm totally into this! Just try not to piss the ghosty off in the mean time, okay? Sounds like a real nasty piece of work_."

He nodded furiously, wiping his tears against the heel of his hand, and swallowing thickly. "Y-yeah," he said. "Thanks again." He hung up, and the deafening silence hit him like a brick. He shifted uncomfortably against the tile, and then leapt to his feet. No, he needed to do something. He needed to figure something out. He could not sit idly, he could not and he would not.

The first thing he did was steal a pack of cigarettes from Jean, because he needed them more than Jean did, and then he stuffed his laptop into a bag along with some clothes. He then left some more food out for The Captain, and promptly exited the apartment, making certain to never turn his back. He sat down on the rickety metal steps and dug a packet of matches from his bag.

 _I'm not going to let this beat me_ , he thought, sticking a cigarette between his teeth and striking the match once, twice, thrice until it burst with a spitting hiss. He cupped the flame as he dragged it over the end of the cigarette, inhaling sharply. Smoke burned his tongue, and his eyes watered pitifully as he shook the match out and tossed it aside. He exhaled, the scent of his smoky breath making him sick to his stomach.

Firstly, he called the hospital.

"Mikasa  _can't_  come home today," he told them, his voice hoarse and breathless from the smoke. They wouldn't know that, though. "I just walked in on a robbery in progress, okay, it's not safe."

They asked him things. Did he call the police? Had anything been stolen? Was he hurt?

"I'm fine," he rasped, rubbing his cheek and wincing. "Mostly. I got hit, but then they ran off, so I'm just really shaken up, and I'd appreciate it if you kept Mikasa for the night. Is that okay?"

Of course it was okay.

"Just please don't tell her," he sighed. "Please… I don't want to scare her."

Of course it was okay.

Armin took a drag, staring vacantly ahead of him as he hung up. People were too easy, and it made him sad.

Eren appeared beside him. His hair was wet and his cheek was red and glistening.

"What the fuck are you doing," he snapped, pointing to the cigarette. "Do you want to fucking die?"

"Maybe."

"Armin!"

He held the cigarette lazily between two fingers, and blew smoke through Eren's face.

"You're dead," Armin whispered. "You should know as good as anyone. It doesn't matter when or why, I'm gonna die someday either way."

"You need to fucking chill," Eren spat, looking angry and disgusted. "What happened? You've got a bruise. Do I gotta spook someone?" His eyes lit up. "Was it that Jean asshole?"

"No." Armin was almost amused at Eren's blatant issues with Jean. "It was a ghost. Like you. But meaner. And tangible."

Eren stared at him, and it became apparent by his expression that he knew exactly what Armin was talking about. He squinted at Eren's face, and he turned to face him fully.

"Who was it?" Armin asked. "What's up with him? Why was he all bloody?"

"Bloody?" Eren looked taken aback. "What are you even…? Armin, I'm a ghost, but I don't know everything!"

"You know this," Armin said firmly.

Eren sighed, and he leaned forward grumpily. "I just want you to stop investigating this stuff," he muttered. "I want you and Mikasa to be okay. And safe. You'll be safer if you stop."

"Safe from what?"

"I don't know!" Eren jumped to his feet, or at least began to float in midair, scowled down at Armin as his cigarette smoldered. "I don't know, I don't know! I'm just as lost as you are!"

"You're lying."

"Armin…"

"You are." Armin tossed his cigarette over the side of the railing, and he shrugged. "I'll figure it out."

"I really don't want you to."

"Because you'll what? Disappear?" Armin did not look at Eren. He could not bear to look him in the face. "Eren, dead people are supposed to move on. You can't be a ghost forever."

Eren's body flickered violently, an in-between state of golden and gushing. Blood pooled against his cheek.

"Fucking watch me," he spat.

And then he was gone.

Armin rubbed his face in horror of what he'd just done.

He was a terrible friend.

It wasn't easy to put this behind him, to head down the steps and start forward into the street, but he did it. The day was dimming and the road was wet from rain, and Armin watched his feet as he headed downtown, his mind wandering and his heart thudding hard. The world was preying on his anxiety, eating it all up and gnawing him down to the very bone.

He could not shake the feeling that he was being watched.

He buzzed into an apartment and waited, throwing his hood up as it began to drizzle. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He ignored it.  _Mikasa's gotta be worried about me_ , he thought, feeling sick to death of his own insecurities. He was worried about her too. Which was why he didn't think he could face her. Not yet.

" _Yo_ ," a sharp, low voice came through the speaker. " _Who goes there_?"

"Armin," he said, gripping the strap of his bag. "I almost just got robbed. Can you let me in?"

There was silence. And then, the door clicked, and Armin glanced up at a security camera as he entered the building. It was nice enough, a pretty standard apartment building with one door to the right and then a flight of green carpeted stairs. He wiped his feet at the door and headed up.

The door swung open, and he was greeted by the sharp, clever eyes and angular face of Ymir, her hair loose around heavily freckled cheeks and her lips pulled back into a tight smirk as she watched him.

"Look at that shiner," she said, lifting his chin sharply with her knuckle and turning his face to the side to get a look at his cheek. "Dang. Kinda wanna give the guy who did it an award."

"Next time I see him," Armin said, yanking his chin from her grasp, "I'll give him your address."

"No need to get snippy with me, son." She pursed her lips. "Did you want something?"

"Um…" He shifted awkwardly. "Yeah, actually, I… I don't really… want to…" He bit his lip and tried to keep his tears at bay. She continued to stare, scrutinizing and stolid. She rolled her eyes and stepped aside.

"You can sleep on the couch," she said. "But just for tonight. Got it?"

"Thank you," he breathed, moving past her quickly and clutching the strap of his back with white knuckles. "I'm really sorry to bother you about this, it's just that I don't want Mikasa to know about this, and you don't actually give a fuck about anything."

"True," she said, strolling through the living room and into the kitchenette. He set his bag down on the couch, looking around the apartment curiously. They'd moved a few things around since he'd last been there, but essentially it was still the same cramped little place that really was not big enough for two people. He looked up in alarm as he felt something icy brush his throbbing cheek.

Ymir was pressing a frozen bag of peas to the side of his face.

"Thanks," he mumbled, taking it carefully. "I owe you one."

"I'll hold you to that," she said brightly. He glanced at her, and he wanted to laugh. He'd known what he was doing before coming here, but still, owing Ymir a favor was not something he was particularly keen on.

He sat down on the couch as she disappeared into her room. "So," she called. "Mikasa still out?"

"She's okay." Armin pulled his laptop from his bag and rested it in his lap. He opened it, holding the makeshift icepack between his cheek and shoulder. "Could be better, but I mean, she got into a huge accident. She's lucky it didn't end up worse than it was."

"You really went up with the heroics, didn't you," Ymir stated, exiting her room, a solid deep turquoise hijab half-wound around her head. He never asked her about her habits with wearing it because he knew it wasn't his business, but he did wonder. She didn't like to broadcast her religious views, and it had been a few years before any of them had even known she was Muslim. She kept anything remotely personal to herself. She trusted no one. A good way to live... right?

"I wasn't trying to be heroic," he said, holding his icepack gingerly.

"I'm busting your balls, bro."

He rolled his eyes, and then observed her quick, nimble fingers as she adjusted her hijab, pinning it carefully in place. "Do you mind if I play some music?" he asked.

"As long as it's not dank music, eat your heart out." She turned from him as he hit a button on his keyboard and the steady striking of fingers on keys filled his ears, gentle rhythms melting into rapid shredding of fibers against strings, flaxen bows peeling on cellos and violins. He heard it in his head and felt it in his heart, and he glanced at Ymir. He began typing.

His hacking skills were rusty, but he thought he could at least do this.

"I'll be gone for a bit," Ymir said.

"Okay," he said, glancing up at her and smiling genially. She stared at him with a blank expression. She then left without another word.

Armin took advantage of this.

It was pretty easy to hack into the security cameras, but the trouble was that he was looking for a day from seven years ago. This took a lot more time than he wanted or expected, and he found himself furiously trying to work through the coding, and then searching the video feeds for an hour or so until he finally came across the night Eren went missing.

From there, it was a matter of fast forwarding.

The steady thrumming of strings fell upon his heart, and he could not think or feel with this strumming, thudding, screeching, dulling sensation drawing down from his nape to his tailbone.

He felt an overbearing dread as he came to the morning of that night. The end of the feed.

No Historia.

Her alibi did not check out.

The police had lied for her.

But  _why_?

Armin rubbed his face tiredly. He wanted to talk to Eren. But Eren was pissed, and he was dead, and Armin was all alone in Ymir's apartment with a new suspect on the mind. This was so difficult.

If Historia hadn't gone to Ymir's that night, where  _had_ she gone?

"Oh boy," Armin muttered. He didn't like this at all. He didn't like what this was doing to him. If people would just talk to him, tell him what he wanted to know, then this wouldn't be a problem. But everyone was so damn secretive!

Everyone could be guilty for all he knew.

He exited out of all his hacking shit when the door opened, and Historia walked in with her head bowed. She kicked the door closed, swinging her keys idly as she moved forward. Armin watched her expectantly until she finally looked up. She jumped back, dropping her keys and blinking wildly.

"Armin," she gasped.

"Christa," he greeted.

"What are you doing here?" She glanced aside, clearly confused.

"Ymir is letting me stay here for tonight." He tilted his cheek toward her. "Got punched by someone who broke into the apartment. Didn't really feel safe, so…"

"Oh," she said. She picked up her keys, and she nodded. "Okay."

He looked down. This girl. This vacantly smiling, pink lipped, doe-eyed, perfectly doll-like little  _liar_. She had a delicate little face and fluffy hair, dainty hands and a tiny frame, a face that made people want to melt to please her. A tiny voice, a way around problems. She was smart, that was for sure.

She knew exactly what she was.

She must really hate herself.

She must really hate this.

Armin closed his computer, and he rolled his shoulders. "You don't mind, do you?" he asked her nervously. Part of him actually cared.

"Oh, no!" She gave him her wide eyes, and her big, fake smile, and she shook her head. "No, not at all. I'm glad you're here, actually."

Her voice was sweet, and he felt it like granulated sugar in his mouth, rubbing up against his teeth and decaying the enamel, rotting away gums and flesh until there was nothing but porous, yellowed husks.

He smiled at her. "I really don't mean to intrude," he murmured.

"It's fine."

He glanced at her.

She was the sweetest looking snake he'd ever seen.

"I need a drink," he declared, setting his laptop aside. Her eyes brightened a bit, and she tossed her bag onto a couch.

"Hold on," she said, waggling a finger. "I've got some whiskey."

"Oh yeah?" He twisted in his seat to watch her as she stood on the very tips of her toes to reach a cabinet. "You have a secret stash?"

"Not so secret." She pulled the bottle out and lifted it up high above her head, smiling at him while cocking her hip and letting her hair pool over her shoulder. "Ymir knows about it, she just doesn't touch it."

"Hard to believe she's so immaculate." Armin cleared the couch of his stuff as she set two shot glasses out on the coffee table and plopped down beside him.

"I always tell people Ymir is not what they expect," she sighed, twisting the cap of the bottle. "No one listens." Armin watched her tip the bottle, pouring a light, transparent liquid into each glass with great ease. Perhaps she did this a lot.

"I'm starting to understand that people can be intentionally deceiving," he said, taking his glass. He smiled at her brightly while she averted her gaze, smiling so wanly that he could feel the gears in her head turning. "Well, to life, I guess." He tipped the glass back, and the whole of it in a great gulp. The taste of it left him grimacing, and he felt it in his veins, shuddering through him and running coarsely like a livewire. God, he hated alcohol.

Historia took her own glass and shot it back, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her lips together thinly. "To life," she murmured. She slid her glass back onto the table. "How are you, Armin?"

"You really want to know?"

She tilted her head, and she shrugged meagerly. "Yeah, kinda," she said.

He inhaled sharply. "Well," he said, glancing up at the ceiling. He laughed. She laughed too. They were empty people. Empty people with empty words and empty hearts. "I'm scared to death. All the time. I feel like something is really, horribly wrong, you know?" He stared straight into her eyes, and let his face crumple. "I don't know. I'm just really scared."

"Oh." She tucked her pale hair behind her ears, and he could see it in the way she shifted. The way her big eyes fluttered closed and open, the darting motion of her gaze. Yes, she was nervous, and she was scared too. "I'm sorry, Armin. I know this is difficult. I hope you… find Eren soon."

Empty words for empty people.

He poured them both another shot.

"What would you do?" he asked her as she took hers without comment, shaking her head furiously as the spike of alcohol hit her hard, shattering her composure. "If it were Ymir missing, not Eren, would you be searching for her? Would you be doing what I'm doing?"

She stared at him. She poured herself another shot.

"I don't know," she said. She threw her head back as she drank it. This time she didn't shudder. Her true self was showing. Christa was peeling away by the pretty seams, stained strings snapping and makeup smearing, and the grimy truth came to surface with every word she spoke. Armin took his own shot, and it sloshed on his tongue and scorched his throat.

"Yeah," he said huskily. "I don't know either. It's the worst feeling in the world. Not knowing a goddamn thing."

She looked at him. Her eyes were empty and glassy and gauzy. "Isn't it?" She sniffed. "I don't suppose I know anything at all."

"Me either."

"We must be birds of a feather." She eyed him uncertainly, and poured them both another shot.

"Like a murder of crows," he said flatly, taking the shot from her and throwing it back. At this point, he felt nothing.

She did not respond immediately, and instead poured herself another shot. This could end really badly. Really, really badly. Armin was aware. They were both terrible people, and alcohol made them do terrible things.

He'd risk it.

"You don't like alcohol," she said, her gauzy stare burning into his eyes and igniting some semblance of disgust within him. Not entirely at her, but at him as well, at them both for this and that and them and then.

He wanted to laugh.

"Nope," he said. She offered her shot out to him, and he took it, tossing it back and pressing his lips together thinly as he felt everything in him fade away and his logic take the front seat, his filter collapsing and his heartbeat thrumming in a dull monosyllabic dirge. "I hate it. It's terrible."

"Isn't it?" She poured herself another shot in his glass. "So why did you suggest drinking, Armin?"

"Oh, you know." He tilted his head at her as she threw her glass back, swallowing hard and holding it gingerly in her perfect, white little fingers, whiskey glistening on her upper lip as she parted them both coyly, her eyes searching his face emptily, knowingly, dazedly, severely. She was intoxicated, and not only from the liquor. "I thought it best not to be sober for this."

"You can get drunk?" She let her eyebrows raise and her voice heighten. Teasingly. As though that meant a thing.

"I know, it's very alarming." He rolled his eyes. "Tell me, how does it feel?"

"How does what feel?"

"Being so," Armin said, taking the bottle by its neck and pouring her another shot, "utterly," he poured himself another as well, his words punctuated with a chilly bite upon the air, " _empty_."

For a moment, her cloudy blue eyes widened, and he almost took her for being hurt. It amused him.

She brought the shot glass to her lips, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she lifted and dropped her head.

"Well you'd know, wouldn't you?" she retorted. She flung her head back and emptied her glass, squeezing her eyes firmly shut.

He couldn't really deny that.

"You've got your act down well enough," he said. "You could fool anyone, really. But what I don't understand is… why? Why are you such an indomitable liar, Historia?"

She cracked open one eyelid, and she leaned forward. "You called me Historia."

"I did."

"Why?" She did not seem angry or sad. She seemed utterly emptied of all emotions. He felt that. He concurred.

"Because that's your name."

"How did you know it was my name?" She stared at him, and he stared back. This was a war of words and wonders, and he would win. He would he would he would.

"Historia, I used to make a living off dealing information," he reminded her gently. "You think I didn't know your real name?"

"You're a bastard."

"You're a bitch," he replied in kind. "A lying little bitch."

She straightened her shoulders and she lifted her chin. She was defying him with everything left in her. Which, truthfully, was very little.

"I may be a liar, Armin," she told him coolly, "but so are you."

"Have I ever pretended not to be?" He pulled his feet up onto the couch and hugged them to his chest, peering at her with large eyes beneath his fringe of unruly blond hair. "I don't hide behind a mask, I merely avoid letting how monstrous I am show. You? You're nothing. Completely fake. Your very life is a lie. You're a pathetic, toxic, empty little liar. Nothing more. Nothing less."

She turned from him. Her eyes were glistening. She poured another glass, and this time she stuck it in his face, forcing it upon his lips.

"Yes," she said absently, "tell me more. Coming from you, that means so very, very much. You realize you just described yourself, don't you? Tell me again how terrible I am. Or is it my turn?" She did not tip the glass back— she was not so bold. So he did it for her, and found that he could no longer taste the lighter fluid he was ingesting. "You're a coward. You run from all your problems, worse than me, you run from the things you've done, the people you've hurt, you avoid the messes you've made and pin them on others, you act as though you're guiltless when you're awful, awful,  _awful_." He pried the glass from his lips, and he felt tears stinging his eyes. They watched each other dully. "See? You know it."

"I deserved that," he said simply. "But it doesn't change a thing. You're still a liar."

"So are you."

"I need answers," he whispered, "I need to know, I need to know, I need to know what happened that night, and I know you know!"

She exhaled sharply. She tossed her glass onto the table, and it skidded a little as she readjusted herself on her side of the couch, sitting placidly on her knees. "What night?" she asked, tapping her chin. "I don't seem to recall—"

"Bullshit," he snapped at her. She glanced at him, and dropped her hands into her lap. She looked a little remorseful, but mostly languid. She closed her eyes, her shoulders squaring. "You know what I'm talking about, Historia. No more lies."

"No more games," she replied.

"I'm not playing. This is as straightforward as I can possibly be. Why did you lie about that night?"

She rolled her eyes upward, pressing her plump pink lips together, oh so innocently shrugging and sighing and shaking her head. "Armin, you make zero sense," she said.

"I'm asking you." He ran his fingers through his hair, his throat aching terribly and tears trembling at the corners of his eyes. "I'm just asking. I won't tell the police, I just want to know."

"Why does anyone lie?" She eyed him sharply. "Why do you lie?"

He had no answer for that.

He avoided the question.

"I feel like I'm missing something," he said, rubbing his head. She scoffed. "Honestly. I feel like I'm missing part of myself, and this investigation is what's pulling me apart. Help me."

"I'm nothing, remember?" She sniffed, and she tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Besides, I don't care."

"Living in apathy won't help you," he whispered.

"No."

"You're probably an alcoholic," he admitted, watching as she poured herself another shot.

"I think you're trying to poison me." She lifted her glass eyelevel between them. She handed it to him. "Drink up. You need it more than I do. Maybe you'll remember. Maybe you'll forget."

"Now you're just fucking with me."

"Is that not what you've been doing to me the past… half an hour?" She rested her head against the back of the couch, slivers of golden hair pooling across her nose and mouth, blue eyes large and glued to his face beneath the yellow waterfall. "Enlighten me. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"You're the psychology major."

"Would you like me to psychoanalyze you, then?" She did not move, her face half buried in the couch's back. "That might take awhile."

"You're sassier than I thought you'd be drunk."

"You're more of an asshole than I imagined either way." She squinted at him, and her eyes were brimming with tears. "I might puke on you."

"I'd deserve it."

"Do you really want to know why I lie?" She pointed at him. "No. You just want to make yourself feel better. No. You're trying to make yourself look better. No. Let me tell you something. It doesn't work. You're ugly on the inside and rotting from the heart. We're birds of a feather, huh? A murder of crows." She laughed. "I don't like myself. I don't like you. I don't like anyone, not even Ymir sometimes. I don't know or care about anything. But it could be worse." She lifted her head, and she smiled at him tremulously. "I could be you!"

The door opened, and both Armin and Historia jumped, grasping each other firmly in shock as they watched Ymir walk in with her eyes moving from them to the half empty bottle of whiskey.

"Wow," she said. She kicked the door closed. "Looks like a party. Why didn't you invite me?"

Historia's eyebrows furrowed, and Armin had to think for a second, because he was a little out of it, but Ymir did not drink alcohol, he knew that, he knew that, he knew that, he knew that. So he was very confused when she leaned over the coffee table, plucking the shot glass from his hand and pouring it up to the brim. She smiled at him sweetly.

She splashed it in his face.

"That's a nice look on you," she said, slamming the shot glass down, the neck of the bottle still firmly in her fist. "Really. It brings our your eyes. Look how red they are."

Historia giggled.

Ymir beamed at her. "And you!" she gasped. "My darling girl."

She stretched her arm out and tipped the bottle of whiskey over Historia's head, dumping the contents of it into her pretty blonde hair. It dribbled fast down her face, into her eyes and gaping mouth.

"Let me break it down," she said once the bottle was empty. "You two liars, you're either gonna clean this up and wash yourselves while I go to bed and wake up with an alcohol free apartment, or you little vipers can go find some other sucker to bunk with tonight. Talk amongst yourselves. Pick each other apart some more, make out if that's what y'all are digging right now,  _c'est la vie_ , I'm going to sleep, goodnight, tiny monsters, destroy yourselves or don't."

She strode away, unpinning her hijab and whistling as she went.

Armin rubbed his stinging eyes. Historia couldn't even see through all the alcohol, she was digging the heels of her palms into her eyes and breathing heavily.

"Oh," she mumbled. "Oh, she must've heard, oh no, oh no, oh no."

"Calm down," Armin whispered, touching her shoulder awkwardly. He was not sober enough to be kind. "Let's just do what she said to do."

"She heard me, she heard me, she—!" Historia sounded hysterical, and Armin quickly got to his feet and ran to the kitchenette, grabbing a towel from the handle of the stove and rushing back to Historia's side, throwing it over her head and dabbing her face gently. "She—! She—!"

"She's not going to hate you over something like that," Armin murmured. "You need to calm down. I promise, she doesn't hate you nearly as much as you hate yourself right now. Stop."

"But—!"

"I'm sorry I got you drunk," he sighed, prying her hands from her eyes and mopping up the whiskey. The scent made his stomach turn and his nostrils burn. "I was manipulating you from the start, I guess."

"I know," she whispered. "I let you."

That was actually fascinating.

What a bizarre girl.

He imagined what it would feel like if Eren had done what Ymir had just done. Called him a liar and a snake. Armin supposed he'd feel like scum too, if that were the case. He lifted Historia's chin and wiped her cheeks free of liquor. He was too far gone in his empty, drunken state to feel sorry for what he had done to her, but he understood that it had been wrong, and he regretted it.

"Birds of a feather," he said. "Right?"

She looked at him. Both stares were as empty as the whiskey bottle sitting so innocently on the table beside them.

* * *

"Mikasa."

He'd knocked at the door, but she had not stirred until he had said her name. Immediately she jolted awake. Jean had gone home sometime during the night. Armin wondered if he'd have any paranormal experiences, or if the hauntings were just reserved for Armin. In that case, he probably would need to talk to Historia more often. As a psychologist, not a shitty drinking buddy. He was pretty sure they were okay though.

She squinted at him, and she shifted in her bed. "Hey," she murmured, rubbing her eye with a bandaged fist. "Hey."

"Hey back." He sat down tentatively on her bed, kicking off his shoes and pulling his feet up beside hers. "Jean went home?"

"Yes." She blinked slowly. "Um, I told him to. Armin, where were you last night?"

Sunlight pooled through the window, setting her eyes aglow and making them look like molten silver, which was beautiful and startling. Mikasa was the most beautiful person he knew. It pained him to see her in such a weak state, cuts and bruises and burns and bandages adorning her like baubles and jewels.

Truths sat on his tongue.

Lies were expelled like smoke.

"I was with Annie," he said.

"With… Annie?" Mikasa looked alarmed. She straightened up. "Wait.  _With_  Annie, or—"

"We were just hanging out," he said. "Friend stuff. Nothing more than that."

Why not tell her about Historia, Armin? Why keep her out of the loop?

Why keep lying, you fucking dirty lying coward?

He didn't even know anymore.

"What happened to your cheek," Mikasa asked sharply, grasping his chin between her thumb and forefinger and jerking it to the side to get a better look. "Armin, who did this?"

"I just hit my face, that's all."

"Armin, stop lying to me." She jerked his face back, scowling at him until he felt the guilt really coil within him.

He was a despicable person.

"Mikasa," he said, taking her hands in his and squeezing them tightly. "Who's Levi?"

And all at once, she seemed to turn to stone. Marble or bone, she was whittled and carved, stiff and frozen in a perfect way, perfectly perfect of course, perfectly perfectly perfectly perfect.

He was really fucking hungover.

"Levi," she repeated. It was a whisper. All at once, her stone features crumbled into dust. "Where did you hear that name?"

"Does that matter?"

"You're making me angry, Armin." She squeezed his hands right back. "Stop fucking around. No lies. Please, just… not this time. Be truthful just this once."

He wanted to curl into her arms and cry and sob and beg for her forgiveness.

"Some professor from Trost told me," he answered honestly. It felt good. Relieving. Yes. Truths were good for the soul. They were clean and light.

"When did you go to Trost?" She leaned back, looking a little appalled. "Armin, what have you been doing?"

"I didn't go to them, they came to me," he sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. He'd showered the previous night to rid himself of the whiskey smell, but his vision was still swimming and his head was aching dully from the aftereffects of being the scummiest person alive. He hated alcohol. He hated himself. These were things that came to light when he allowed himself to be terrible. "I don't know, they gave me their card. Um…" He searched his pockets quickly, and yanked the business card from his pocket. "They're a paranormal investigator."

Mikasa took the card, glancing at it with quick, clever eyes. "Hange Zoe," she said. She stared at the card for a little while more before resting it in her lap. "I feel like I've heard that name before."

"They said they knew Levi," Armin said, leaning forward. Mikasa refused to meet his eye. "The question is, who is he? You clearly knew him. What was his deal?"

"Armin," she sighed, running her fingers through her hair. It was wavy and limp on her bruised, battered cheeks. "Why can't you just leave well enough alone?"

"Mikasa," he replied, smiling at her wanly. "Come on. You know me better than that."

And she smiled back, a disbelieving smile crawling onto her lips, because yes. She did. She knew him too well, and she knew he wouldn't back down. "Oh," she said, shaking her head. "I hate you."

"Now who's the liar!" He laughed as she threw her pillow at him, swatting him playfully over and over in the chest and on the head until he hooked his arms around her waist and laid down beside her. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I surrender!"

She laughed, and it was such a strange, vibrant sound. He wanted to bury his face in her side and forget everything, forget Eren and Historia and Kenny and the whole wide world, and just curl up beside her so that nothing could ever hurt him ever again, not a death not a breath not a speck of dust falling through a shaft of light.

But he could never forget Eren. He could never, no matter how terrible he was, he could never abandon him, not truly, never truly, and it hurt him to know that Eren was gone, that Eren was dead and gone and rotting.

And Armin's goal was to make his soul disappear as well.

What kind of monster was he?

"Levi was my cousin," Mikasa whispered into Armin's hair. He'd rested his head against her collarbone and listened to the steady drum of her heartbeat.

"Was." Armin closed his eyes as she drew her fingers through his hair and pulled it back from his cheeks, smoothing it and stroking with a motherly hand, her touch tender and her smile loving. Armin listened to her heart, the thud and the crash, and he thought that if his heart breathed stringed instruments, she was all percussion. He heard her heartbeat and saw the clap of a hand against the skin of a drum, dust and fingers flying through the air in a rapid  _thump-thump-thump_.

She took a deep breath, and her chest expanded against his cheek.

"He killed himself," she said. Armin sat up straight, pulling away from her to watch her quizzically. "I was seven or eight, I— I was never told the details exactly. I was just told that he died, but everyone said he killed himself. At the funeral— it wasn't even a funeral, really, there wasn't a body or anything, they just… they just had a ceremony. When I went, everyone told me that he did it." She looked at Armin, and she shrugged. "They said he was just the type."

"That's awful," he whispered. Oh, Levi was haunting the apartment, no question. The trouble was, Armin didn't know who he was. The creepy child or the bloody man?

"It was," she agreed. She folded her hands in her lap, and she shook he head furiously. "I never talk about him. I like to forget he existed."

"That's awful too!" He frowned at her sternly. "Mikasa, you shouldn't just forget about him like that. He clearly meant something to you."

"He…" She sighed, closing her eyes. "Oh, I don't know, Armin. It was so long ago. He was such a distant person. I didn't even know him, not really. He came to my house to stay every year for Hanukkah, but he'd never really interact with anyone, and I just… didn't understand him. At all. Sometimes he was normal, and he'd sit down and play with me, but then he'd just become this cold, unapproachable person that I hated to be around, so I avoided him. I don't know, Armin. He was… a mystery to me."

"That doesn't mean you should just forget about him." Armin shook his head. "Especially if he killed himself. Do you think it had anything to do with Kenny?"

"It had everything to do with Kenny," she spat. She was looking at her hands, wringing them anxiously. He placed his palm over her bandaged knuckles, but she did not calm and she did not falter. "They never found a body. I read that somewhere. In a newspaper clipping, or something. Levi was only considered a missing person for about a month, maybe less, before Kenny pulled the plug and had him legally declared dead. I used to imagine that he was still around, still… there, somehow, just… hiding and waiting." She stared vacantly ahead of her, her eyes drooping a bit. "That he got away. I wanted to find him."

"Mikasa…"

She glanced at him. "I was little," she explained hastily. "A foolish little girl who'd just lost her parents. Running away seemed heavenly in comparison to living with Kenny."

He hugged her. He wrapped his arms around her torso and buried his face in her neck, and he breathed into her skin, "I'm sorry. You deserved better. You deserve better." She returned the embrace tightly, resting her head against his shoulder and sighing into his hair.

"I don't know, Armin…" she whispered, squeezing him so tightly his ribs felt as though they were contracting. Suffocation was a death he could accept if it were by her hand. "Do I really?"

"Of course!" He pulled back and held her by the sides of her face, pushing back her hair and searching her expression. He realized that though she did not show it, she was utterly defeated. Something was hurting her. Something was eating her alive. "Mikasa, you're not telling me something."

"Because you tell me everything."

"Mikasa…"

She held his hands and she kissed his nose. He couldn't help but burst into a giggle, blinking rapidly and shaking his head. "You're distracting me!" He waggled his finger at her, and she rolled her eyes. "I just want to know what's bothering you."

"I'll tell you if you tell me," she answered simply.

But of course he couldn't.

How could he tell her that Eren's ghost was haunting him?

Where was he, anyway?

"How about," he said, untangling himself from her wicked grasp, "I go check you out instead?"

"Please."

And so it went. Armin thanked who he needed to thank and beat himself up plenty for making Mikasa stay overnight again when that had been unnecessary. She was more or less okay to walk home, not having sustained any injuries to her legs, which was good. She was happy about that.

"Do you think Eren's still alive?" Armin asked her.

She said nothing. She walked, and she walked, and she walked, and Armin realized that she really was hiding something.

Did she know?

"Mikasa," Armin said hesitantly. He tried to catch her by the elbow, but then he grew terrified of the fact that it could be true. It could be true, and he might not know it.

Suspect one. Kenny Ackerman.

Suspect two. Eren Jaeger.

Suspect three. Historia Reiss.

Suspect four. Mikasa Ackerman.

"I don't know," she said finally. "Eren's… Eren's gone. I don't know what to tell you, Armin."

"Tell me you believe he's alive."

"I can't do that." She looked at him sharply. "You know I can't."

He bit his lower lip, and he wanted to cry.

Eren was dead, and they were broken.

He hated this.

"I just want to know," Armin whispered. "That's all I want. To know what happened."

She took his hand gingerly, her thumb stroking his knuckles in an odd rhythm, and she shook her head. She didn't say it, but he knew. He knew exactly what she was thinking.  _You're better off not knowing_.

But why?

Armin saw Hange's car in the lot, and he swore softly. Great. Jean was definitely talking to them. Jean was such a terrible people person, it was really commendable, honestly, like Armin could not understand how one person could have such little tact.

"Armin," Mikasa said suddenly, grabbing his elbow as he started up the metal staircase. He turned to face her, studying her face curiously, but her expression was just as inscrutable as ever. She clung to his shirt with skinny, bandaged fingers, and her eyes were too sharp and too bold. She was carving him up without speaking a word, and he felt her emotion in his soul, her fury and her desperation.

"What?" he asked, bewildered.

She blinked up at him, and took a step so they were eyelevel. "You know you can tell me anything," she whispered. "Right?"

He blinked as will, rapidly, confusedly, a disbelieving smile falling into play on his lips. "I know," he said. He turned from her, and felt that the viper that he was had swallowed his heart whole and left him with nothing inside him but tingling self-doubt and gnawing terror.

She deserved a better friend than a boy whose very breaths were laced with lies.

"Jean!" Armin called as Mikasa opened the door for him.

"Kitchen!" Jean called in reply. He glanced at Mikasa, and he shrugged, moving through the living room and into the kitchen while she shut the door behind them. He found Jean sitting at the table with Hange Zoe, a series of photographs spilt across the table. Jean glanced up as he entered. "You have  _got_  to hear this, man."

He took a deep breath. Mikasa appeared at his back, resting her palm between his shoulder blades very gently. "What's all this?" she asked warily.

"You're Mikasa!" Hange leapt to their feet, their hand jutting out and their dark face beaming with delight. "Wow! Wow, I knew you got older, duh, but this is totally weird! I honestly never thought I'd see you again."

"Do I…?" Mikasa leaned back in alarm. "I know you…?" She glanced at Armin rapidly, for reassurance or for an explanation, for anything, for his silvertongue and quick wits, perhaps.

"Hange Zoe," Armin told her gently. "They were a friend of Levi's."

"Oh." Mikasa looked stunned. "Oh. I don't remember you. Sorry, I guess."

"You were just a little kid when I met you," Hange said, waving their hand quickly. "I don't mind a bit. Ah, you're a lot like him, aren't you?"

Her eyes flashed dangerously, and she hunched defensively. "What's that supposed to mean?" she snapped.

Hange looked alarmed. They held up their hands in surrender, their eyes moving slowly across Mikasa's face, assessing her expression carefully. They smiled brightly. "I only meant you've both got this standoffish atmosphere about you. No big deal, it's probably an Ackerman thing."

Mikasa made a noise at the back of her throat like a growl or a groan, but she said nothing. She kept herself quiet, and she kept close to Armin, her nails digging into his back. She stood as though trying to hide behind him, like a little girl afraid of facing her parents after doing something wrong.

"What have you told Jean?" Armin asked anxiously. He'd been hiding his ghost issues for the most part. He was scared to let some stuff out in the open.

"Oh, I just gave him the basics about what happened to Levi," they said. They looked up at the ceiling. "Which… I should probably tell you too!"

"I already did that." Mikasa glanced at them sharply. "What's this about?"

"You've got a ghost, Mikasa!" Hange clapped excitedly. "A real nasty piece of work, too, a real poltergeist! See, ghosts are normally very self-contained. They don't really care about the living or how the living go about their boring old lives. But poltergeists, all you need is to piss one off just a little tiny bit— disturb their special place, or fuck with something they really loved. And they'll antagonize you until you move out or die."

"That's not reassuring at all," Armin blurted.

"You think Levi is a ghost," Mikasa said slowly, "in my house. Right now."

"You're skeptical." Hange tilted their head. "You've lived here a long time, Mikasa. You must've noticed. This place is cursed. You can taste the haunting in the air, it's so alive with paranormal activity! Can't you feel it?"

Mikasa said nothing. She folded her arms across her chest, and kept herself silent, because… because she had no more lies left to tell. She couldn't deny the ghostly atmosphere. She'd said herself that the place was cursed.

"So you think it's Levi," Armin said, placing his hands on the table. "For sure? The ghost that's been trying to spook me is him?"

"I can't imagine who else it'd be." Hange smiled at him brightly, their eyes twinkling. Armin felt his stomach twist in despair. "Anyway, here are some pictures of him. Before he went missing."

Armin peered down at the photographs, and he felt sick. The man in the photos was small, an unsmiling, gaunt little thing that constantly tried to turn away from the camera to no avail. There was a picture of him in a dog kennel, surrounded by puppies, his head bowed as he knelt and jerked a finger in the face of a pitbull, a dog treat held high above his head. A picture of him with his face half turned away, his middle finger flipped up. A picture of him, much younger, much, much, much younger, sitting with a wan, shocked smile. He was wearing a yamaka, his hands folded on the white tablecloth and a man standing behind him with a big smile. Armin recognized him as Mikasa's father. This, Armin imagined, was almost definitely Levi's bar mitzvah. There was a picture of him with friends, and with family (never Kenny Ackerman, though, Armin just couldn't imagine why), with animals, with no one, and it was astonishing because Armin had no idea who this person was, and it made him feel disgusting to know that he was another ghost in the walls, another pair of eyes waiting for Armin to crash and burn from the shadows.

"Where'd you get these?" Mikasa asked, plucking up the photo of Levi's bar mitzvah. She stared at it for a long time. She'd never gotten a bat mitzvah. He imagined she felt bitter about that.

"A friend of ours kept them," Hange said with a shrug. "Mementos, I guess. Old Kenny, he didn't want any of Levi's stuff. So we went through some of his things and kept the photos we thought were nice. He didn't take very many nice photos, let me tell you. He was a real asshole."

"That's a real nice thing to say about a dead guy," Jean snorted. "Didn't you say not to antagonize the ghost?"

"I'll be fine," Hange told him curtly. "I know how to deal with Levi, dead or alive. Oh, you're welcome to have any of these you want, Mikasa. We stole them from here, after all."

"I…" She was fixated on the bar mitzvah photo. "I never imagined he was ever happy."

"You were really young." Hange looked at Mikasa with sympathy. "You had every right to think that. He was so temperamental, I hardly ever saw him with a smile on his face, but that was just how he was. He was awkward, and weird. We were all awkward and weird, not gonna lie."

"How'd you know him?" Mikasa looked up at them, her eyes wide. "Where'd you meet?"

"A mutual friend introduced us," the replied with a shrug. "I thought he was a little shit at first, but he was really just… ah, he had a hard time expressing himself. Probably Kenny's fault, let's be real."

"Yes." Mikasa set the photo down, her eyes large and distant. "Kenny has a way of doing that to people."

Hange's lips tightened into a grimace, understanding Mikasa's reservations very clearly. Levi must've had a tough childhood.

"So why'd he kill himself?" Jean asked, resting a cheek against his fist.

Hange licked their lips, their eyebrows rising and falling as their eyes rolled. "Well, that's just the question, isn't it?" They clasped their hands tightly together. "Why oh why would Levi ever want to kill himself? He wasn't the type, don't listen to anyone else, his depression was hardly that bad. What drove him to it, then?" Hange tapped their chin thoughtfully. "Hm! I wonder!"

"I don't appreciate that tone," Mikasa said darkly. "You're implying that he didn't kill himself."

Hange's eyes glowed brightly behind their glasses, and they snapped their fingers and laughed. "Precisely!"

"But," Armin gasped, anxiety kicking him in the teeth and forcing him to bite his tongue. "B-b-but… but, he's dead! You said so! He died, and he's haunting us!"

"Yeah." Hange whistled. "Hey, Armin, you've seen him a few times. Tell me where."

"I…" Armin leaned back. "I… oh, I don't…"

"Go on." Hange's eyes were large and beseeching. "Go on! None of us will judge!"

"Okay…" He shifted awkwardly, his breath caught inside his throat. "Well… I saw… a little boy…" He pointed to the cupboard under the sink. "In there. Two nights ago. And… and I saw him again. That night, when Mikasa had her accident." He heard his own strumming heart, fingers delicately drawing down on a chord and then another until the strumming became frantic, and the sound was drowned by the bellow of a piano, the shrill screech of a cello bow's hairs shredding up in fury. "He was in the mirror. He had Jean's light in his hand, in his fist, and he lit it. He lit it, and he dropped the lighter on a puddle of gasoline."

Mikasa stared at him with very large eyes while Jean's mouth hung open. Hange merely looked a little confused, as though he'd switched a word here or there with something in a different language.

"Now that's alarming." Hange scratched their cheek, and they frowned. "A little boy, you said?"

"Yes."

"That's amazing." They reached toward Armin, and grasping his hands tightly, dragging him closer. "Tell me more!"

"Ah!" Armin flushed, and he shook his head furiously. "That's the last time I saw the little boy! I don't even know if it's Levi, it's… a child!"

"Yes, it's a child." Hange released him, and they shrugged. "Ghosts take on different forms depending on their reasons for staying in this plane. Now, Levi had major fucking daddy issues. Not surprising if his ghost appears like a child. He was honestly a fucking child on the inside, not gonna lie."

"Nice." Jean rubbed his face tiredly. "I'm terrified to sleep here now."

"Chill." Hange rolled their eyes. "I'm here to make sure Levi doesn't bite your asses while you sleep. Don't worry. Now, you called me to say that a man punched you, Armin?"

"Really?" Mikasa turned to look at him, her eyebrows rising. "How strange. I thought you hit your face, Armin."

"I did," he said weakly, smiling at her bitterly. "On some bloody guy's fist."

"Bloody."

"Drenched head to toe in blood."

"I want to move," Jean declared.

"Oh, shut up," Armin told him. "You've never seen him."

"Nope, and I don't actually want to." Jean pressed his lips together, glancing up at the ceiling. "Although… it'd make a pretty rad found film horror movie, gotta admit it."

"It'd be for real, though," Armin pointed out.

"Nobody has to know that."

"Ignoring the future Spielberg here," Hange said, "like, for real. Is the haunting really that bad?"

"It is for me…" Armin looked down, and he shrugged. "I don't know."

"Mikasa?" Hange studied her. "You've lived here a long time. Have you ever seen Levi's ghost before?"

She looked at Hange, her mouth parting. And then it closed. And then, she shook her head. She shook her head. She kept shaking her head, and Armin's hand hovered fearfully over her shoulders, his shock keeping him from comforting her. She looked, in that moment, so traumatized that she could not speak or move or even stop shaking her head.

"Mikasa?"

"No," she whispered.

She's lying, Armin thought.

He said nothing.

Hange did not buy it. They lowered their head, gazing at her intently.

"Are you sure?" they asked carefully.

She shook her head.

She shook her head.

"I…" She glanced down at her hands. "I think… you should leave."

"Mikasa!"

"It's fine," Hange said, holding up their hand to silence Armin. "You've been around him a long time, huh, Mikasa?"

She shook her head.

"You know, children really should not be around spirits. It messes with their heads real bad."

She shook her head.

"Spirits aren't lucid, you know," Hange said, gathering their things. "Well, sometimes they are, but a lot of the time they're residual hauntings. The chances of Levi being sentient was slim to begin with. And if he is sentient, the chances of him having any understanding of basic logic is also very slim. He could easily see you with… say, Armin." Hange jerked a finger at Armin's face. "You could just be talking with Armin, and he sees you. Now you've made him jealous. Dead people don't get attention much. And you're the only person Levi has in the whole wide world."

"Get out!" Mikasa was still shaking her head, tears glistening in her eyes.

"I am," Hange said gently. "I'm not trying to make you angry. You just need to be honest."

Mikasa shook her head.

Hange sighed, bowing their head. They glanced at Armin, and they shrugged. Then, without another word, they exited the kitchen. Before the front door shut, they called, "Bye, Levi!"

Mikasa shook her head.

She fell back, colliding with the wall, and she shook so badly that Armin felt nauseated just seeing her in such a terrible, terrified state, her lips parted and her tears streaking her face as she shook, shook, shook her head.

Jean was on his feet, his mouth gaping, and he looked ready to run at Mikasa, but he was hopelessly stuck in place.

"Mikasa," Armin whispered, edging closer to her. Her eyes shot rapidly to his face. She hugged herself tighter, and then squeezed her eyes shut, sliding down the wall and shaking her head. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

She shook her head.

She shook her head.

"I…" she mumbled, shaking her head so furiously that her dark hair fell into her scarred face, a mess of tangled black strands like a nest of feathers. "I… I didn't…" She bowed her head low, and it ceased shaking. She ceased shaking. "He told me not to tell anyone."

Armin felt a chill shoot through him, a sharp, vicious pang of panic and terror.

This thing, this stupid little ghost, had its claws in Mikasa. And Armin had no idea how to make it let go.


	9. Chapter 9

**as much as you can carry**

"What's that on your wrist, Eren?"

He'd been tossing a ball into the air, a large round green ball that went up— and then immediately dropped, gravity clinging to the grooves of its face. He caught it in both hands, dipping forward from the weight. Armin didn't know where he'd gotten it.

"What?" Eren, ever the oblivious, pulled his sleeve back. He spotted the angry, purplish bruise that ringed his brown skin, and his eyelids slid heavily in a half-closed stupor. "Oh. That. Don't worry, I just got my hand caught."

 _Yeah, right_ , Armin had thought bitterly. They'd been sitting by the bank of the river, a cool, misty summer day, and Armin toed at the mud and the clay that formed the edge of the riverbank.

"Oh yeah?" Armin smiled wanly. "On what?"

"Just like, a wire. Thing. Like, you know what I mean? Yeah." Eren sniffed, rolling the ball in his hand. "Anyways, are you cold? You look cold."

"I'm fine," Armin sighed. He eyed Eren suspiciously, the round faced boy with bright green eyes and a forced smile, and he snatched the green ball from his hand. Immediately he was overtaken by its weight, and he yelped. "Eren, where'd you even  _get_  this thing?"

"It's a bocce ball," Eren replied innocently. "I stole it from a big ol' bag of them. In the crawlspace."

"The crawlspace?" Armin had been at a loss. He leaned back, and he gaped at Eren openly. " _Mikasa's_ crawlspace? Eren, what the heck were you doing in there? It's so spooky and icky, it's— crap, I don't even know, but I don't like it! Why were you in there again?" Armin stared at Eren's face intently. The boy looked alarmed as Armin's eyes roved back to his bruised wrist. With a sharp intake of breath, he understood. "You sneak into Mikasa's house through the crawlspace. Eren, you're the stupidest, bravest person I know."

"She can't stay there by herself, Armin," Eren gasped urgently, looking terribly remorseful. "She just  _can't_! Okay, okay, I know I should have told you. I'm sorry. I just didn't want you to feel like we were leaving you out of something, that's not what it is at all."

"I wasn't feeling that way, actually," Armin muttered, dropping the green bocce ball into the wet, oozing river clay. "Not until you mentioned it."

"Shit," Eren swore. He scooted closer, and Armin glanced at him, feeling furious and uncertain, because he didn't know what was going on, and he didn't know why Eren and Mikasa would keep secrets from him. It hurt. He bit his lower lip to keep it from quivering as Eren touched the back of his neck gingerly, his fingertips cold from dipping them in the water to wash his hands of mud and clay. Armin jumped, and he didn't want to cry over this, it was a silly thing to cry about, but he was upset for reasons he could not explain. Why hadn't they said anything? Why did they never say anything? "Armin, look at me. Please. Hey." Eren's fingers struck him softly very suddenly, dancing from his nape along a vein and traveling to the tender skin beneath his ear, causing Armin to shake and balk and bite his tongue to contain jittery laughter. "Look at me!"

When Armin finally did, Eren puffed out his cheeks indignantly, and he swatted Armin's thick blonde hair from his eyes.

"You are a fucking  _moron_ ," he snapped, his eyes narrowing at Armin's face as he shrunk back, "if you think I love either of you more than the other. Don't be jealous of Mikasa because I sneak into her house, okay? It's not something I actually want to do, it's just… she's scared. Like, really… really scared, Armin. All the time. She doesn't feel safe. That's why I sneak in. So she's not alone."

Armin sat and stared. He felt like such a damn little fool. Of course Eren had his reasons for sneaking into Mikasa's room. Of course. What was Armin even thinking? Of course Eren wasn't trying to leave Armin out. Of course!

He felt sick with guilt.

"Eren," Armin whispered, his eyes growing wide. "What is she scared of?"

And Eren, startled, leaned back. Because perhaps he had not realized what he was revealing with every word he uttered on the subject. He shifted in discomfort. And then, hesitantly, he held up his discolored wrist with all its black and blue and purplish glory, and he sighed. Armin took his hand, pulling Eren's arm closer to his face to examine the bruising closer. Definitely finger marks. It looked like a large hand had taken hold of Eren's wrist and yanked him so hard his skin had twisted angrily in retaliation.

"This needs to end," Armin hissed. "He can't keep hurting you guys! I— I can't stand it, Eren. Please, let's just tell the police. Please."

"And then what?" Eren yanked his hand back furiously. "They'll just take Mikasa away somewhere! Do you think that'll be any better? No! She's not safe with him, but at least she's close, okay? If we tell the police, she'll have to leave, and we won't be able to help her if she's off in Berlin or, or wherever orphans go, I don't know,  _America_? Do you really want Mikasa to be sent off to  _America_?"

"I doubt they'd send her to America," Armin muttered. "It's more likely she'd stay within the state's reach. And as much as I want her here, she's being terrorized by Kenny! We can't leave this to just chance, Eren. Chance that you'll be there, or chance that it might stop. You love her. So do I. The best thing we can do for her is to  _get her out of that house_!" Armin punctuated his fury by slapping the moist clay bank, and he blinked in shock as it spat back at him, red mud slithering down his cheek.

Eren laughed.

He shook his head in disbelief.

"I'm not losing either of you," he declared. "I'll fight off Creepy Ackerman by myself, if I have to. And anyone else who would dare touch my friends. I'd— I'd rather die  _myself_  than let anyone take you away from me. Come here, let me get that mud off."

Armin rolled his eyes as Eren dragged him into the water. With a wicked grin, he splashed Armin in the face. The cool water awoke him, made him see things clearly, and he noted the dark circles under his friend's eyes and the way he favored his left side, subtly but truly, and the half-moon shaped welt on his forearm no size bigger than a small coin where a cigarette must've brushed him.

"Eren!" Armin wiped at his eyes, and he scowled up as his friend guffawed.

* * *

The worst thing about not being crazy?

He sorely wished that he was crazy.

When Mikasa was scared, that was it. That was the point where Armin lost hope. The fact that she'd been afraid for— for who knew how long of this ghost of a long dead boy haunting her made Armin sick to his stomach. What the hell was he supposed to do? He honestly didn't know where to go from here. Mikasa was lost, and so was he.

They were utterly hopeless.

Mikasa had gone to her room. Armin had begged her not to, but she'd brushed him aside and gone anyway. A ghost. A ghost. A ghost. He wasn't the only one that saw ghosts. That meant something. Truly, it did.

It meant that Eren was really dead.

All this time Armin had been hoping, somehow, that he was just losing his mind. That Eren was alive somewhere.

This was too cruel.

"Why didn't you say something?" Jean asked quietly. "About this Levi person?"

"I didn't know." Armin was wearing the same clothes he'd worn yesterday. He was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the photographs, and feeling that he'd somehow missed something vital in his analysis. Levi. Levi Ackerman. Mikasa's dead cousin. "I didn't know him, I… I didn't even know if what I was seeing was real, Jean, I just…"

"Why is he being such a dick, though, I mean…?" Jean groaned, and he ran his hands through his hair. "You said he started the fire at the Strip, right? Who fucking does that? To their own cousin!"

Armin scratched at his knuckles nervously. The bandages were still there. He felt sick. Truly. His head was clogged and his mind was foggy. He thought of Eren. Who? Who would? Who could? Who? Ha. Who. Who?

Who.

Who.

Why?

Who?

Who…?

Armin nearly smashed his head off the table in disgust and frustration, he wanted so badly to see his brains smeared on the polished wood, to see nothing but red and to laugh it all away, because who? Who could, who would, why would he, how could he, what type of terrible person could do what had been done?

"He wasn't in control of his actions," Armin murmured. Jean watched him, and there was something in his eyes, clear doubt glowing there. "Look, I know. I know how that sounds, but you heard Hange. Levi's probably not lucid. He doesn't know what he's doing."  _Eren does,_  Armin reminded himself.  _So what type of ghost is Eren? What the fuck is he haunting?_

"But he killed himself," Jean sighed. "He's here out of his own volition, right? Why the fuck is he so pissy, then?"

"Jean, you clearly have never been suicidal," Armin sighed.

Jean froze, his amber eyes and proud mouth falling in slow motion, and Armin felt his stomach flip in despair.

"And you have," Jean stated in a low, soft voice. He did not ask. He did not pry. He merely stared, and the pity was palpable. Armin could puke right there.

Armin stared at his bandaged hands, and he tried to sort his thoughts, but it was all vague blurs of things he didn't understand, of thoughts and feelings that did not match. He was not a full person. He was a shattered little boy, a mosaic of blood smears and ink, of words and wonders, of screams and echoes. He was made of tempered glass, and he could feel an old maestro's steady hand pluck and twist and dig at his molten skin until his malleable flesh cooled and he resembled the piece of art the world had destined him to be.

He wished someone would stick him in a hearth and let him melt under the flame.

"It's not as bad as you think it is," he whispered. "I have anti-depressants."

"You don't take them," Jean said firmly. "I know, Armin, okay? Stop trying to make it seem like you're fucking fine. You're not. You're… okay, don't take this the wrong way."

Armin folded his hands on the table, flattening his bandaged fingers, and he smiled wanly. "This sounds promising," he tried to joke. But it was a sad and empty sound. Jean stared at him. He took a deep breath.

"For as long as I've known you," he said hesitantly, glancing at him hurriedly as though wondering if it was okay to speak candidly. Armin nodded to him encouragingly. He didn't want to hear it. But he knew he needed to. "For as long as you've been my friend, you've… been totally distant. You're never actually you. If you know what I'm saying."

"Not really…?"

Jean huffed, and he sat up straight, gaining some confidence. "Okay," he said. "Listen. You are a fucking robot." Armin felt a pang in his heart, though he did not know what emotion had struck him. Pain, perhaps. Or fear. Because unlike Armin, Jean didn't hide behind lie after lie after lie just to feel in control. "Don't take that in a bad way!"

Armin stared, his eyes large. He shifted he gaze uncertainly from Jean's face, and then looked back. His brow furrowed sheepishly. "I'm not sure how else I'm supposed to take that."

"Ugh!" Jean slapped the table in frustration, and Armin winced. "No, no, no! I don't want to make you feel bad!"

"Isn't that what this is?" Armin tilted his head. "You call me out on all of my bullshit, I get sad and sick about it, but realize my mistakes, and we're all happy campers again?"

"You know, I thought my sarcasm was annoying," Jean said, jerking a finger at Armin's face over the table. "But you? You're a real piece of work. Bet you were a teacher's pet, too. No one knows just how mouthy you are."

"That's not true." Armin felt like someone had force-fed him a cup of pills, and he was jittery and numb with shock. He didn't like being in this position. It had hurt less when Historia had told him the truth, because Historia was just as disgusting and empty as he was. "Lots of people know. Have you met my friends?"

"Yes," Jean said, his eyes narrowing. "You tend to forget that I'm _one_  of them."

Armin's stomach lurched. He swallowed thickly. "Jean," he sighed.

"No," Jean said, holding his hand up. "No, you have to listen. You aren't okay, Armin. You lie— all the time, you just… lie, for absolutely no reason! You lie to me, and to Mikasa, and I… I don't know, I'm worried! You lied about not being depressed!"

"I wanted to avoid this conversation."

"Well a lot of fucking good that did," Jean snapped. "Damn it! You're falling apart!"

"You're the one screaming," Armin sighed. "Am I really falling apart?" Yes. "Am I really depressed?" Yes. "Do I really lie to you all the time?" Oh man. Yeah. "Jean, think. Am I the one who needs an intervention right now?"

"I have faith in Mikasa's ability to deal," Jean said sharply. "You? Not so much."

"Your trust in me is truly astounding." Armin leaned back in his chair. He wanted a drink so he could stop feeling so awful, so disgusting, so much like a corpse rotting from the inside out. He wanted to empty himself. Fully. Completely. "Go to hell, Jean."

"You're being super hostile for someone who's apparently super fucking stable." Jean scoffed, and he glowered at Armin. As though Armin could perceive  _Jean_  as a threat. Please. "That's what I'm talking about. You're losing it. You're not yourself, and it's scary. This investigation is fucking you up, and this apartment is making it even worse! You've been ignoring all your other class work, pushing people away, lying your way in and out of every situation— Armin, you hardly eat!"

"I eat!" Armin objected in distress. This was something he was fearful of. He ate. He did. He ate. He did! Just… not enough, he supposed.

"You eat the bare minimum of calories your tiny fucking body needs," Jean said flatly.

"Are you a nutritionist now?" Armin rolled his eyes. "Jean Kirstein! The greatest director to ever live, and a private nutritionist on the side. Go figure."

"There you go with that hostility again!"

Armin rose to his feet, shaking his head furiously. "Is it unwarranted? You're attacking me for no reason."

"You just admitted that you've thought about killing yourself!" Jean leapt up from his chair, slamming his hands down on the table hard, and the crash resounded across the kitchen. Photographs blew into the air and fluttered sadly to the tile floor. "This isn't unwarranted! This is me worrying about you!"

"I'm not going to kill myself," Armin said calmly. "Calm down. I'm okay."

"You're lying again!" Jean shook his head. "I hate that! I hate that you feel like you need to lie about everything! I'm here because of you, man! I'm here because we decided we were going to investigate this together, but you're hiding so much shit!"

"Mikasa's up in her room," Armin whispered, "dealing with the fact that a ghost has been haunting her for over a decade, and no one's ever been able to help her with that. I don't want you to worry about me. Worry about her. Worry about if she's okay. Because I know she's not. You know she's not. But you're focusing on me, when I clearly don't want to talk about how shitty I am. We all hate ourselves, Jean. Maybe it's a little. Maybe it's a lot." He gripped the back of his seat, his rage making his voice shake. "You have no right to judge me based on how much I hate myself, or how much that hate has evolved. If I lie compulsively, it's a coping mechanism. If I lie intentionally, it's because I'm genuinely trying to fuck with you." He smiled at Jean bitterly. "Don't you hate me too?"

Jean stared, open mouthed, and his rage was just as unsteady, just as palpable, and Armin could taste it in the air, tingeing it red.

Suddenly, Eren appeared beside Jean. His face was warm and brown and kissed by the sun, and his eyes were dull and sad. He stared at Armin desperately. He shook his head.

He stuck his hand in Jean's spine.

Jean buckled, and he gasped, "How could anyone ever hate you?"

Armin's eyes narrowed.

Eren's words fell from Jean's mouth like fat, sad droplets of rain into a puddle.

He realized, hiding his shock, that Eren had just possessed Jean without a thought.

What the fuck was that about?

"Don't give me that bullshit," Armin whispered. "Please. I don't need it."

"Why?" Jean's head tilted, his eyes gauzy and his lips twisting in a sneer. "Because it's a  _lie_?"

 _God damn it, Eren_. Armin's jaw tightened, and his eyes stung with tears. How cruel. How fucking cruel his best friend was. And the worst part was, it was not undeserving. Armin had it coming. The anger in Jean's voice was real. The disgust in his expression, the horror, the pain, the confusion.

"Stop," Armin whispered. He didn't need this. He didn't understand why Eren was doing this.

"You want me to stop?" Eren's voice bled into Jean's and the ghost boy leaned forward, his eyes alight with fury. "Don't you hate it when you say that and no one listens? Doesn't it hurt?"

Armin stood, his mouth falling open, and tears spilt onto his cheeks as he was hit with the pure, vicious emotion that was flung from Eren's wavering form, from Jean's contorted lips. It hurt. It stung like a slap, because oh, god! It was true! Armin was intentionally ignoring Eren's wishes out of his own selfish need to know everything.

"I—!" Armin didn't get it. Why now? Why was Eren doing this now? "Stop it. Stop doing that." He didn't know how aware Jean was. This was difficult. "Stop."

"You're not listening!" Jean smashed his fist into the wall, and Armin cried out, clapping his hands over his mouth. "Look, Armin. Really look. This is your fucking truth. You want me to stop, but you won't even think for a moment just how I feel about what you're doing! Leave it alone!"

"I can't!" He lowered his hands, his voice cracking across the air in a pitiful breath. "You know I can't!"

Eren tore his hand from Jean's back and he strode forward as Jean rocked and blinked and groaned, his head falling into his hands. Eren stood before Armin his image flickering so violently it made the room spin, and Armin felt sick and dizzy just staring at him, his face tearing from warm and pretty to pallid and drenched, brown and bright to bleached and blood-slick.

"You're a fucking liar," Eren whispered.

"I don't mean to be," Armin gasped, tears flooding his face, and he could hardly see through them, they streamed so heavily. "I don't know what's wrong with me, I… I'm sorry… I can't… I can't stop, not now. Please, you have to understand—!"

"I don't understand at all!" Eren's face crumpled in despair. "Why are you doing this, Armin? Why do you keep pretending?"

"Because I'm a liar, like you said, right?" Armin laughed thickly, vacantly rubbing his eyes on his sleeve. He sniffled, and he sobbed. "G-god! Where did this even come from? What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with  _me_?" Eren's rage electrified the very air Armin breathed, and it made him choke. "Did you really just ask that?"

"Armin, what…? Are you crying?" Jean's voice was tremulous, and Armin laughed. He was so fucking out of the loop, it was amazing. And it was all Armin's fault, really. "Did I make you cry? Aw, shit. Shit, man, I didn't—!"

"Can he shut the fuck up?" Eren shot Jean a disgusted look. "I should have knocked him out."

"Eren!" Armin blurted in shock. Immediately he wanted to puke from his slip up, and he wished he could have taken it back, for he saw Jean's face transform, the confusion and alarm there.

"What…?" Jean stepped back, gaping at Armin. "What about Eren?"

"I'm right here!" Eren snapped at Jean, whirling around. "Right here! I just punched your fucking backbone, you chain smoking deadbeat!"

Armin swallowed his desperate pleas for Eren to quit shouting. It'd do him no good.

He took a deep, shaky breath.

"It's fine," he sighed, dashing his tears away. "I needed to cry, I… I'm sorry, Jean. You're right. I'm going to start taking my meds again."

"Liar," Eren snarled, his image blotting away in a wisp and his voice hanging in the air, thick and syrupy and sliding down Armin's throat. He realized, horrified, Eren had reappeared right behind him, and if Eren could breathe, his breath would be beating hotly against Armin's neck.

"Armin…" Jean looked truly sorry. That Armin feel all the worse.

"I'm serious," he gasped. "I'm really gonna take them, and… and I should probably talk to someone. Like, a real therapist. I really need that."

"Yeah, you probably do."

"You really, really do," Eren muttered into Armin's skin. He shuddered, subconsciously rubbing the sensitive skin beneath his ear. "I hate this guy. Why are you friends with him?"

"I'm sorry." Armin felt sick. "I wish… I wish I'd never dragged you into this. I wish I'd never come back here."

And with that, Eren did not reply. He blinked before him, reforming into a full-bodied boy with wide green eyes and parted lips, horror-stricken and hurt.

Fresh tears sprung to Armin's eyes.

Why was Eren doing this?

"Oh," Eren breathed.

Oh.

Armin stifled a shout as he disappeared altogether. He hadn't meant it. He hadn't meant it! He hadn't, he hadn't!

Oh.

He felt so sick.

Armin lurched toward the sink, and he buckled as vomit burned his throat in its violent ascent and splashed into the metal basin. He'd made himself sick from guilt and horror and sadness. Great.

He was so fucked up, he was so fucked up, he was so fucked up.

"Armin!"

He dropped to his knees, heaving and gasping, his heart hammering against his ribs, and he thought he might as well give up. He might as well stop trying. He was useless. This was useless! Eren hated him, and he was dead anyway! What good did Armin do?

"You're right," Armin sobbed. "I'm a liar, and I… I…!"

"Oh my god," Jean exhaled. "No, calm down! I didn't mean to make you upset!"

 _What the fuck did you expect to happen?_  Armin bit back, wiping his mouth and hiccupping. His mouth tasted like bile and liquor. He wanted to puke again from the burn of it, the acidic pungency.

"I just…" Armin moaned, covering his face. "I don't know. I hate it. I don't know anything, and it makes me want to peel my face off."

"That's really… really uncomfortable, wow." Jean knelt beside him, his eyes wide. "You say the weirdest things, man. Come on. Get up."

He didn't want to. How did he say that? How did he describe how he was feeling?

He couldn't.

Eren hated him, and the world was going to hell anyway.

Armin shook his head, sniffing and trembling and rubbing his eyes. His nose burned. His head hurt. His heart was battering his ribcage, and he wanted to die. So. What else was new?  _I'm sorry, Eren_ , Armin thought, his stomach squirming and his heart aching.  _I'm so fucking sorry, I should have never… I should have… I should… I_ …

His nose burned.

He rubbed it, and he thought. He thought of Eren, and of Mikasa, and of this whole big fat mess. He thought of the lies he'd told, and the misfortune he'd dealt and had been dealt. This was all his fault. He had no one to blame but himself for the situation he was in.

Burning

He sniffed.

Jean sniffed too.

"Hey," he said blankly. "Hey, do you smell that?"

Armin looked up wildly. Burning.

He leapt to his feet, and Jean did the same. He had to think for a moment, because it wasn't processing. Burning? What could be burning? They hadn't cooked anything, had they? Oh crap, had they? Crap! Armin's eyes darted to the stove. Wait. No. No, didn't look like it. Okay.

"Okay," Armin croaked. "What the hell is burning?"

Jean stood beside him, staring vacantly ahead. They glanced at each other.

"Fuck!" Jean ran from the kitchen and into the living room, and Armin followed, feeling a little sick. Jean peeked out the window, and he cried out in terror. "Shit! Shit, shit, shit!"

"What?" Armin gasped, his tears drying on his cheeks. "Jean, please don't tell me the garage is—"

"The garage is on fire!" Jean pulled out his phone, his voice heightening in panic. "Yeah!"

And in Armin's shock, he realized. He could see the light of the flames reflecting in the window from below. He backed away slowly. His eyes were wide, and he could taste the smoke in his mouth. In utter terror, he pivoted and ran.

"Mikasa," he breathed, the staleness of bile still clinging to his tongue. "Mikasa!"

He skidded to a stop at her door, and he tried the doorknob, shouting, "Mikasa! There's a fire, Mikasa—!" The doorknob clicked around in his hand. He stared at it as it wriggled. The door was locked. "Mikasa!" he screamed, his heart sinking into his chest as he realized the extremity of the situation. "Open the door!"

There was no answer.

Armin rapped his knuckles against it. Repeatedly. "Mikasa!" He was frantic with his knocking, and he kicked the door, trying to doorknob, kicked the door again, pounded with his hand, with his palm, screaming, "Mikasa! Mikasa, there's a fire, what are you even  _doing_? Mikasa!" He was wasting time. What was she doing? "Jean!" He tried the doorknob, and he hissed through his teeth in frustration. "Jean, she's not opening the door!"

But Jean didn't respond. Armin growled and he slammed himself against the door, his palms slapping the wood and stinging from the shock, and he heaved, resting his forehead against it and allowing hopelessness to crawl over him as he slid to the floor, tears once again springing into his eyes. He couldn't leave the apartment without her. He just couldn't.

He was struck by an idea.

"Mikasa…" He pushed himself to his feet, stumbling into his room. He took a deep breath as he faced the painting of Isaac and Abraham, grabbing it by its frame and lifting it from the wall. He wobbled a little, weak and tired and unprepared. He rested the painting on the floor at his feet, and he stared into the two-way mirror.

Mikasa was there. He'd half wondered if she'd left without them knowing, but no. She was right there. Sitting in her closet, perfectly in Armin's view, cross-legged and blank faced. She was not looking at him, but at something else. Armin watched a red ball roll into her palm. He slammed his fist against the wall in fury as she rolled the ball back.

"Mikasa!" he snapped, rapping against the window. "Mikasa, stop it! You could die if you stay in there, do you hear me? Can you hear me? Mikasa!"

But she kept rolling the ball, and it kept returning. A game. An idle little game. She was utterly entranced.

"Mikasa!"

Finally, she turned her face toward the window. The mirror, by her own vision. She blinked rapidly.

The closet door slammed shut.

Armin's blood halted in his veins, ice clinging to his nerves as her scream echoed in his ears.

He snatched the hammer he'd used to remove the painting from the wall, and he smashed it into the window, over and over and over and over until it shattered around him, and he kicked and clambered over the broken glass, not caring one bit about the gashes it left or the tears in his clothing, and he bolted across the room, flinging the closet door open. He coughed a little.

She was not there.

"Mikasa!" He pulled his shirt over his nose. His hand was bloody. He gritted his teeth, and crouched into the closet. He squinted, and he knew. He knew exactly where she'd gone.

Armin was going to die.

He took a deep breath of clean air, and he got down on his hands and knees. The hole that led into the crawlspace was smaller than he remembered, but he still fit. Once inside, it was tall enough that he could stand, and he blinked into the darkness, which was smoky and grayish. He could hardly breathe. He held his shirt over his mouth and nose, and he realized he didn't know where to go because he didn't even know where forward was.

 _I'm going to die_ , he thought.  _Me and Mikasa, we're going to die in here_.

He felt around the sides of the crawlspace, stepping forward uncertainly, and smoke filled his lungs and stung his eyes. This wasn't fair. Mikasa didn't deserve this. Eren hadn't deserved this. Armin… Armin was certain that he had miscalculated somewhere, because for all his despair, he didn't think he deserved to die like this.

"Armin."

His knees buckled. That was Eren's voice.

"Armin, I know where she is."

"Eren…" He coughed, and he leaned against a wooden beam, blinking into the smoke and sighing. "Okay. Okay, just… help me…"

"I need your permission."

"For what?" Armin coughed again, and his voice was hoarse as he spoke. "You want to possess me? Go ahead! You didn't ask Jean for permission, so what the hell does it mat—?" He sunk a little unable to breathe or think or see.

And then he felt an unbearable cold wash over him.

The world went flatly white, and the entirety of his body was numb as he felt himself moving, felt the smoke enter his lungs, but did not feel the need to cough and spit. His eyes were clouded by the image of the darkened sky, and he heard a scream, a terrible scream. Armin knew that scream. He knew it so well. He'd just heard it.

Mikasa.

Armin felt a great, white-hot, blinding pain as his head landed on something hard, and he rolled into a bed full of knives, icy water swallowing his head and gnawing at his neck until it snapped, greenish ice liquified and clogging up his throat and lungs.

Mikasa's scream.

Mikasa had been there.

Right there.

She'd seen it happen.

She lied.

Armin grappled with his sight, feeling detached from himself. He heard his own voice shouting.

"Yes, I'll leave him if I have to, but what does that matter? You're gonna let her go! You're gonna do it right now, or I swear—!"

"What are you going to do?" It was a small voice. A child's voice. "You can't stay in a body for long. You can't touch things in your real form. You're weak. You should just let go."

"So I end up a glorified attack dog like you?" Armin's voice was raw. "No way!"

"You're running out of time…" The small voice turned strangely deep. "Stop fucking around!"

"I'm trying, but you won't let go of her, and I can't carry her! Armin's not that strong!"

"That's too bad." The deeper voice was flat. Monotone. "You said you'd leave him. Do it."

"I said that only as a final option!"

"It's either her or him!" The voice wasn't even angry. He just made his voice louder. There was something loud near them. Flames. Heat. Smoke. Armin was floating somewhere. Everything was cold. He was lying face down on the surface of a shimmering green pool. "Pick her, don't be stupid! Just hurry up!"

"You're the one who did this!" Armin's voice was distraught. "Why do I have to choose? I can't do that!"

"You said you'd leave him."

"I don't think I can, I don't… oh no, no, no,  _no_! I don't want them to die!"

"You're pathetic."

"At least I still have a will of my own!"

 _Armin_ , Eren's voice floated inside Armin's head. He was floating alongside him in the shimmering green pool.  _There's something you should know_.

Armin turned himself onto his back to stare at the stars. There was someone peering down at him. On the cliff from where he'd fallen.

 _I don't care_. Armin's thoughts sent ripples through the surface of the water like a skipping stone.  _Just save Mikasa. Stop wasting time. You can leave me here, it's fine. Just save her, Eren, please_.

And then, the water was gone, and it was replaced by excruciating heat. Armin could no longer breathe. Everything was hazy and gray and flickering, and he fell to his knees. There was a man in the smoke, watching him with cold eyes. Uncaring eyes. His image flickered, and then he was just… gone.

Armin wanted to scream, but he hadn't the breath to do so.

Armin felt himself being dragged.

Dragged, and then, without warning, carried.

He blinked rapidly, fading in and out of consciousness as the smoke seemed to clear up a little, and something like fresh air came over him.

When he finally came to, he was lying on the cold pavement of the parking lot, blinking up at the night sky. He immediately began to cough. Violently.

He had no idea what had just happened.

"He's awake!" a familiar voice called. He blinked blearily, and he took a deep breath. He didn't know what was going on.

"Mikasa," he croaked. He sat up. He rubbed his eyes furiously, and then looked around, but he couldn't see anything clearly, and his lower lip trembled. No. This wasn't right. Where was she?

Jean hushed him as he began to cry. "No, no, hey!" Jean put his hands on Armin's shoulders. "It's fine, it's fine! She's right over there, talking to Annie, see?"

"N-no…" Armin rasped, rubbing at his eyes even harder. "W-wait, am I alive? For real? J-Jean?"

"Um, yeah?" Jean stared at him, his eyes flickering from his face to something close by. "Okay, I'm going to get you some water. Don't worry, okay? Everything's fine, the firemen got it, and most of the damage is to the garage. Sit tight for a sec."

Armin ached to beg him not to leave, but he couldn't speak, so he just let Jean go. He clutched his chest, coughing a little more, and blinking upward. The sky was clear. His mind was not.

"Armin."

He glanced beside him. Eren was crouched there, looking sad and somber as he sat. Armin swallowed hard. He was not ready for this.

"You're okay, right…?" Eren looked at him with large eyes. "Please say you are. I… I was really scared that I… that you…"

Armin simply stared at him. And Eren sighed.

"You heard," he said quietly. "That I was going to leave you. Right? Armin, I couldn't do it. I couldn't choose."

"I'm not sure why that was even an option," Armin muttered, though it wasn't necessarily true. He had no idea how he'd gotten out of that crawlspace.

"Because," Eren gasped, his eyes widening and his voice breaking apart, "because… god. You really, really don't know, do you?"

"No?" Armin glanced at him quizzically. "I really, really don't know, and it's killing me. Did you think I was pretending? Why would I do that? To not seem arrogant? I might be a liar, but that's just stupid."

"I'm sorry, Armin," Eren blurted. He scooted closer, and Armin stared at him vacantly. "Really, I didn't… the things I said before? I was angry because I don't want to disappear. But maybe it's better if you know the truth. After… after this… after what just happened…"

"What did just happen?" Armin watched Eren's dark face, and he squinted at him. "What do you know about Levi?"

Eren barked a laugh. "Levi?" He rolled his eyes. "I'd need a solid few hours, Armin. For real."

Armin coughed weakly, and he glowered at his hands. "Hange said the exact same thing, what the hell…? What is up with this guy?"

"He's like, the weirdest person ever. And that's saying a lot, considering our group of friends."

Armin considered this. "Yeah, that is saying a lot," he admitted.

"I'll tell you," Eren promised. "I'll tell you everything. But first, check on Mikasa. I'm scared to talk to her."

"She can see you?" Armin shot Eren a bewildered glance. "Why didn't you say something?"

"She's looking at you," Eren squeaked. "Armin! Armin, go tell her I'm sorry!"

"What'd you do?" Armin was so confused. Nothing made any sense!

"I… possessed her without permission. She hates that. Go apologize for me!"

"Er—!" Armin caught himself. There were people around him. A lot of people. Ymir was there. Historia. He could see now. Annie and Mikasa were watching him with blank stares. "Shit. You owe me for this."

"I know who started the fire," Eren quipped. "I'll just tell you that later, and then it's even. Okay?"

"Whatever."

He wandered over to them, blinking the glaze from his eyes and beginning to see more clearly. He didn't feel right. There was a residual cloudiness that hung over him from Eren taking over his body. How weird that was, the whole possession thing. He didn't know what to think about it.

Why would Eren need Armin to apologize for him? It made no sense. Eren was usually more confrontational than this.

"Armin," said Annie, watching him with her droopy eyes softening.

"Annie." He nodded to her. "Um. So. How did I get lying on the ground?"

"According to eyewitnesses," Annie said, "Mikasa carried you out."

"The fire was out by then, though," Mikasa murmured. "We probably would have died otherwise."

"Yeah, well, you didn't." Annie rolled her eyes. "Congrats. You're alive."

"Yeah, we're alive, awesome." Armin rubbed his face tiredly. "Can you check the crawlspace?"

"Armin," Mikasa snapped. Really, truly snapped. Her face grew dark, and her voice scathed him like she'd dragged his teeth over gravel.

"Um," Annie said slowly, glancing between them. "What for?"

 _I don't know_ , Armin thought,  _Levi Ackerman's dead body?_

But Mikasa's vicious stare had him retreating.

"Never mind," he sighed. "It's just dangerous, I guess. The garage leads into it, so it's probably damaged."

"Huh." Annie glanced between him and Mikasa. "Right. Okay, I'll see about it."

She left them alone. Armin bowed his head, unable to meet her eye. She didn't speak, but he felt her glare. This was so unlike her. It hurt. She inhaled sharply. "Armin—"

"Eren told me to tell you he's sorry," he blurted, finally looking up at her. Her eyes flashed wide, and they stood for a moment simply staring at each other.

She opened her mouth. Then, uncertainly, she closed it.

Armin felt his heart stuttering.

She looked down at her feet.

"I don't understand you, Armin," she whispered. She turned from him and walked toward the blackened garage, stuffing her hands into her pockets.

Armin swayed dizzily, sickened from smoke and sadness. He didn't understand himself either.


	10. Chapter 10

**the snare**

"I lied to the police."

If words were tools, he imagined his own words were methods of torture.

Carla and Grisha Jaeger were usually very understanding people. Armin had always felt that they were trustworthy, at least out of the options he had in adults to confide in. His grandfather was amazing and smart and brilliant, but he was old and his memory was fading, and he had a tendency to let things slip without meaning to. Kenny Ackerman was not even an option. So Carla and Grisha were Armin's go-to when he needed to admit to something.

He regretted admitting this.

They sat across from him, Carla's eyes large and vacant, Grisha's purely wary. They regarded him as though they did not know him at all, which hurt him. He'd been fifteen years old. He could not fathom why they would be so suspicious of him. It hurt him. Coming away from the fresh wound that was Eren's disappearance, it really, truly hurt him.

"What do you mean, Armin?" Grisha asked, leaning forward. Beneath his glasses, his eyes narrowed. For some reason, Armin felt like he was being interrogated. He'd never been afraid of Eren's father before, but in that moment it was truly terrifying to be under his thumb.

He'd scratched his knuckles anxiously. It was difficult to remember these things now, but back then he'd been struggling with his own mind and his own feelings. He could not understand why he felt so inexplicably terrified all the time, why his stomach was constantly clenching up, why his blood felt lumpy and decayed within the confines of his pale, scratched up skin. He wanted to speak up, but his tongue was thick and unyielding. He wanted to fade out of existence, but his body remained concrete and rooted in reality. He wanted to rewind time, to fix all the mistakes he'd made, but time sped forward, and he rotted away with the turning of the days and the flipping of the months.

"Okay," he breathed, straightening up. "Okay, I said that… that the last time I talked to Eren was on the phone. That wasn't true. He came to my house that night."

"What?" Carla gasped, nearly jumping to her feet. Grisha calmed her, laying a hand on her knee. "Armin! Why would you lie about that?"

Tears of shame had filled his eyes. "I was scared," he mumbled, unable to meet their eyes. His nails dug into his skin, and they dragged. "I was scared to get involved. I… I don't know, I don't know, I just—!" He looked up at them, blinking rapidly. "Eren wanted me to go into the forest with him. He said he wanted to show me something."

Carla's expression had gone dark, her fury palpable, and Armin felt sick to his stomach. The fury as directed solely at him. If Armin had spoken up sooner, what would have happened? Would Eren be there now, snapping at his mother for her clear disapproval of Armin? Would he be in the same place? Did any of this even matter?

Where would Armin be?

He swallowed thickly.

"You were the last person to see him," Grisha murmured. "I see. How irresponsible of you, Armin."

He bit his lip.

"I didn't…" he whispered.

"You didn't what?" Grisha's voice stung like a slap. "You didn't. That is the problem here, Armin, you didn't do anything. Your lie may have doomed Eren."

Armin wanted to object. He wanted to shout at them that it wasn't true, but that was a lie. It was completely true. His lies ruined everything. That was the simple truth of it. He wanted to puke. He wanted to die. He stared at them, and he felt that their hatred of him was justified, for he hated himself too. He'd doomed Eren.

"I'm sorry," he blurted, unable to muster up the strength to look at them. "You're right. You're right, I made a mistake."

"Yes," Carla snapped, her eyes wide and tearful and furious. When he looked at her, he saw Eren. He saw him in her twisted lips, her feral expression transforming her beautiful face. Eren was his mother's son. Grisha was something else entirely. "You did. You absolutely did!"

"I really don't know why I did it," he whispered.  _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_...

"I don't care why you did it!" Carla leapt to her feet, her tears flooding her dark cheeks, and Armin shook in his despair. "You're supposed to be the responsible one. You know Eren, you know the influence you had on him! Why didn't you stop him?"

"I don't know!" Armin brought his raw, red fingers to his lips, and they trembled against his chin. "I don't know, I just didn't!"

"That's not an answer, Armin, that's an excuse!"

"Carla," Grisha whispered. His wife was shaking more than even Armin, and it hurt, because Armin had hurt these people far more than they'd hurt him.

"No," she spat at him, swerving to deliver her wrath upon him. "No. Absolutely not! You don't get to "Carla" me! I'm not going to be calm about this! This could have been prevented, and you know it! Why should I pretend like I'm okay with the fact that my son's gone because everyone around me is a negligent liar? I won't!"

Armin didn't realize he was sobbing until Grisha put a hand on his shoulder and asked him to leave.

Guilt ate him alive. They were right. It was all his fault that Eren was gone. All his fault. It was all his fault! He didn't know how to live with it. All he knew was that the truth was unbearable.

He inhaled truths and exhaled lies, inhaling them once more and poisoning his brain with half-truths that weighed heavily until they melted into his flesh and became part of him.

He never spoke to the Jaegers again. He couldn't tell if they'd ever forgiven him. He didn't want to know.

* * *

He didn't make any sense. Why did people have to tell him this? He had enough trouble trying to figure things out without people throwing this at him.

The fire had been started in the garage. It was an arson. That was what he'd been told. The damage was pretty bad, but it was fixable. Armin was sitting on the steps when he saw Kenny Ackerman pull up on his motorcycle. He felt too empty to care.

"Wow," the man said, his eyes landing on the still smoking husk of a garage. "Bravo, bitch. You really nailed it."

Mikasa stood in the dying light, her eyes tired and her lips tight. Armin watched her. How had she gotten him out? A fractured wrist, a broken rib, a concussion? How could she have saved him? He was so indebted to her, but he felt a niggling doubt about her sincerity. He knew he was a liar. But Mikasa?

"Is there a problem, Mr. Ackerman?" Annie asked, her voice cool. Armin stood up.

"Yeah, officer, this happens to be  _my_  property." Kenny's gaunt face was skeletal in the dusk, the last traces of sunlight folding behind distant trees. "So I've got every right to know what happened."

"Someone started a fire," Mikasa said flatly. "That's it. Goodbye."

"That's not it, you squirmy little maggot." Kenny stuck a finger in her face. "You can't afford the repairs. Say it. Say you need my money."

Armin's fists clenched at his sides. He saw Mikasa's face grow dark in rage. She was biting her tongue, he could tell, from the silence that stretched out between them. From not so far away, Historia Reiss was watching the exchange with heavily lidded eyes. Jean, who thankfully had The Captain on a leash, was speaking to Ymir, his eyes shooting worriedly to Mikasa. The firefighters even looked uncomfortable as they boarded their truck, glancing at Kenny Ackerman suspiciously.

"The only thing I need from you," Mikasa said, her voice shaky, "is a restraining order. I swear, Kenny, I  _swear to god_ , this is the last time you fuck with me. Leave me alone."

He stood for a moment, staring at her. Then, without warning, he burst into laughter. "That's pretty fuckin' gutsy for a girl who can't afford rent! You wanna play, little girl? Okay, then. Why don't you tell your little cop friend all about the night the Jaeger brat disappeared?"

Armin's heart thudded in his chest. Kenny knew?  _Wait_ , he thought, his gut twisting in horror.  _That confirms that Kenny knows something about Eren's disappearance!_ Wow, what an idiot.

If Mikasa was shocked at his accusation, she did not show it. Without missing a beat, she retorted, "I'll tell her everything the moment you explain what happened to Levi."

Kenny tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "Levi?" He scoffed. "The little bastard killed himself."

Mikasa lifted her head. And then, furiously, she shook it, laughing in disbelief. The sound was broken and awful, and Armin crept closer to her in horror of what she might do. "Sure!" she snapped. "Sure he did! Because there's so much proof of that!"

"A suicide note is proof enough," Kenny said, suddenly very serious about this matter. Armin wanted to tell Mikasa to watch what she said, but he couldn't.

"That was not a suicide note, and you know it."

"Mr. Ackerman," Annie said, her voice harsh. "I suggest you leave. Before I have you arrested for harassment."

"That definitely is not within your power, hon, but nice try."

"I have plenty of witnesses," Annie said, her droopy eyes staring coldly into Kenny Ackerman's face. "You won't believe how easy it is to get an arrest warrant. Now, I'll say it once more. I suggest you leave."

"Tch." The man rolled his eyes. "You really have zero grasp on the situation, do you, blondie?"

She glared at him. Armin was completely lost. Because he knew that Annie knew that Mikasa had been with Eren that night. So what was going on here?

"Well, call me when the power gets turned off, kid," Kenny said, turning away. "And seriously? Stay off the news. I'm getting unwanted attention because you're a camera whore."

"Go to hell, Kenny," Mikasa snarled.

"Someday, little bitch! Someday."

"Oh my god," Annie growled as he mounted his motorcycle.

"Yeah." Mikasa sighed, running her fingers through her hair. She turned to Armin, and she shot him a smile that did not reach her tired eyes. "Hey. The firemen said the building's pretty safe, so we don't have to bunk with anyone. Isn't that nice?"

"Oh, awesome!" he gasped, though he wasn't very excited, and he wanted to whisper to her that they needed to talk. Instead he did as the situation dictated. Annie was watching him, and he knew that she knew that there was something up.

"You think Kenny started the fire?" Annie asked, glancing at Mikasa. "Because I'd agree. That guy is out to get you."

"He always has been." Mikasa shrugged. "I'll be okay. I'm just thankful we got out, and the apartment's okay."

"Well…" Annie shifted uncomfortably. She was probably unused to expressing her feelings. "Be careful."

"Thanks…"

There was something terribly wrong.

He wandered over to where Historia and Ymir were, and he smiled at them dimly. He coughed. "Hey," he said, rubbing his chest. Historia watched him with dull eyes. Ymir quirked an eyebrow. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Watching a soap opera unfold," Ymir said, "clearly."

"Ha ha." Armin glanced at Jean, who merely shrugged.

"They said they were walking and saw the fire. Christa called the police." He shot the tiny girl a smile. "We should totally be thanking her!"

"Oh yeah?" Armin turned his attention to her. She met his eye, her expression utterly blank, and her mouth parted ever so slightly. He smiled at her, feeling vaguely betrayed. "Thanks, Christa."

"Oh, it's really nothing," she gasped, bowing her head. There it was. The act.

Jean glanced at Armin. He was still smiling. And then he wasn't.  _He's beginning to understand_ , Armin thought,  _that no one around him is really who he thinks they are_. It was a sad disillusionment.

"Well," he said, waving at Historia and Ymir. "I'm going to go shower and pass out. Thanks again, guys. See you later." He didn't know how else to tell them to fuck off without explicitly stating, "Fuck off". He turned away. He walked away. Empty. Empty. Empty.

Where had Eren gone?

He ended up alone in the living room, huddled on the couch with his knees buried in his chest, feeling achy and empty and disgusted. He didn't care if he was alone in the apartment anymore. He didn't care who or what was in there with him. He didn't care. He didn't care about anything. Apathy was devouring him, and he was okay with it, because he just did not fucking care anymore.

If you lie to yourself enough, anything can become a truth.

Mikasa came stomping up the metal steps, and the door flew open. He did not look up. He sat in the dark, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat and her shoes scuffling across the floor. She turned on the light, and the leather cushion beside him sunk. He could smell the scent of her, sweat and smoke and oil. She was a mess. So was he.

"Armin," she whispered, her hand landing on his back, rubbing ginger circles into his spine. "I'm sorry, Armin. I didn't mean it like that. I… I don't understand you, but that's not a bad thing. I just…"

He raised his head to glance at her through a curtain of unkempt blond hair. He wanted to smile, but he had no will left to fake his feelings. So he stared. She was exhausted, her eyes shadowy and her face incredibly pale and her expression weary. She continued to rub his back, and it was such a nice feeling. He forgave her instantly.

"Where's Jean?" Armin whispered.

"Outside." She pushed the hair from his eyes, her fingertips warm and callused. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

He sat upright, and her fingers fell from his face as he blinked at her confusedly. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Armin…" She looked at him, her expression very soft. "I have no idea what just happened. I know I must have carried you out of the building, but I don't remember doing that at all. Do you remember anything?"

He wanted to laugh at her, because it was so ridiculous. How could she not remember? It had just happened, it had—! Oh, this was so weird! Armin didn't think it was something one could easily forget. So why had she? Was it because Eren had possessed her? Was that it?

"Do you really not remember?" he asked her in shock.

She scowled at him.

"Yeah, no," she said. "Not even a little bit. I think I fell asleep on my bed, and then… I don't know. I woke up and I was outside, and there was a fire? And I have no idea what happened between then."

"You don't remember the closet thing?" he squeaked.

"Closet thing?" Her eyes narrowed at him. "What do you mean?"

 _Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god_ , he thought. He took a deep breath, pushing his hair behind his ears, and he tried to think really fast of ways to explain the terror that he'd felt upon seeing her disappear into the crawl space. But he had none.

"Nothing," he said weakly.

"Armin!" She jumped to her feet, moving before him and grabbing his hands. He stared up at her, his mouth dropping open, and he begged himself to let something slip, anything slip, but secrets were locked inside him, and he had nothing to give her but lies. "You need to tell me these things!"

"It was really nothing, Mikasa," he insisted. "I mean, you were out of it. I was out of it. But you got me out of the house either way. Why does it matter?"

"It just  _does_ ," she hissed, gritting her teeth. She squeezed his hands, but he would not say anything more. "I'm so confused, Armin…"

"So am I," he murmured.

He heard his breathy sigh, the tremulous sound of air leaving his lips shakily. He was tired, and he was lost. She understood that. But they could not help each other. Neither of them were willing to let their secrets go. It was terrible. They were terrible.

Jean decided to walk in at that moment. He paused at the door.

"Okay," he said. "What the fuck, guys. For real?"

"I'm sorry you got wrapped up in all this weirdness, Jean," Armin said weakly.

"I don't care about that," Jean scoffed, striding toward them. "I care that you guys are the worst at communication skills. What the fuck is going on?"

"We don't  _know_ ," Armin sighed. "That's the problem!"

"Well,  _somebody_  knows  _something_!" Jean threw his hands into the air. "Look, I'm a complete outsider. I have no idea what you guys have been through. But some weird shit is going on here, and the only way anything is gonna make sense is if we talk!"

"I don't like it when you're the voice of reason," Armin said in a soft, fearful voice. "Please stop."

"Shut up, man."

"I'm sorry," Mikasa told Jean, letting go of Armin's hands and straightening up. "You're right. We're all avoiding saying what's on our minds."

"Why don't we start with the fact that the apartment is haunted and go from there," Jean offered. Armin hugged his knees, and he thought about the crawlspace, and he thought about the tiny voice, and then the deeper voice, and he thought about how Eren almost left him there. There was smoke still clinging to the air around them, which was probably really dangerous, and Armin doubted the safety of their home in spite of what Mikasa had said.

"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say to that," she said simply.

"Mikasa, you admitted that you've talked to Levi's ghost!" Jean sounded desperate. Armin just wanted him to shut up. Couldn't they just pretend? Couldn't they just pretend that things were okay? Wouldn't it be better? Easier? Armin wanted some peace, but was that even possible?

He hated this.

"When I was  _little_ ," Mikasa said. "Jean, I was just a lonely little kid, I… I made him up."

"I think you're lying!"

"Have you ever actually seen a ghost?" She turned fully to face him, squaring her shoulders and glowering fiercely. "Do you have any reason to actually believe this place is haunted?"

Jean's mouth dropped open. Armin sunk into his seat. That was a no. He was going by Armin's word. Which, as of late, was not entirely reliable. They both knew he was a liar. So here it was. The boy who cried ghost.

He hated this.

"Exactly." Mikasa smoothed her hair back, baring her cuts and her scrapes to them, her wrist all bandaged and her eyes bruised from exhaustion. "I'm going to shower and sleep some more. You two should get some rest too." She made her way out of the room, and as she did so, Armin leapt to his feet.

"Kenny killed Levi," he blurted.

Mikasa froze in the doorway. Jean's eyes snapped wide.

" _What_?" he spluttered, blinking rapidly. "Armin, what the hell?"

"That's what you were implying when he threatened to tell Annie about you being in the woods with Eren that night," Armin said, breathless and eager to milk some answers out of his best friend. "He killed Levi and passed it off as a suicide because Levi left a note… probably intending to… what, run away? You said he wasn't the type to kill himself, and that note never said anything about dying. Just leaving. Mikasa, tell me if I'm right."

She looked at him, and he saw tears in her eyes.

He felt dizzy with nausea, his head buzzing from self-disgust.

He didn't know when to stop.

He didn't know how to stop.

He would push them both over the edge, and it would be the most beautiful and disgusting sight, both their mangled bodies floating serenely across a half-frozen pool.

She left. Without another word, she walked away, and Armin felt sinking despair as he realized that they were never going to find a way around this. Neither of them could speak, for their secrets and their ghosts weighed them down. It was as though his jaw was locked.

"What the fuck, Armin?" Jean asked, looking genuinely distraught. "You said that we should be worrying about her, but you just made things worse!"

Armin stared after her, and the emptiness spread out, heavy and dark, a void with no center, core for feelings to gravitate to. It was a pit in his chest, and he was suffocating from it.

"I know," he said vacantly. "I didn't mean to, but I know I did. Jean, she's lying. Levi's ghost is here."

"I believe you," Jean said quietly. "But that just makes me more worried about Mikasa. And you. Frankly, you guys are really fucked up."

"Thanks, man."

"No problem."

Jean meant well. But he had no idea what he was talking about. Which wasn't his fault, it was absolutely on Armin. But it was fact. None of them knew what was going on.

Armin did not feel safe. He didn't care what the firemen said. Couldn't the floor collapse from damage? Or had the flames not reached that high? They'd certainly found their way into the crawlspace.

He showered, thankful that they still had water, and yet the smell of smoke and dust still clung to him. He combed his hair out of his eyes, staring through the steam and into the mirror, and he thought he must be a monster, with his sunken eyes and sinking cheeks, his exhaustion and malnourishment truly taking a toll on his appearance. It was all his fault for not taking care of himself. He was negligent. He was irresponsible.

He'd let Jean shower before him, so he'd taken a rather long time, soaking in the hot water and reminding himself that he needed to get a job to help Mikasa pay the bills. He figured he could start dealing information again. And now that he wasn't underage, he could probably get cases that would pay him a lot more than what he'd gotten as a child. It could work.

He wandered into his room, drying his hair with a towel and blinking at the broken glass that littered his floor. He stared into the busted window, and he saw Mikasa sleeping soundly in her bed, her face turned toward Armin, her mouth slightly parted and her hair drying around her cheeks. He smiled contentedly, and returned the painting to its rightful place.

Then he set to work.

He swept up the shards of the window from his floor, watching droplets of water fall from his hair and splash in a rhythm against the deceptive, reflective surface. He dropped the shards in a rubbish bin, keeping his towel around his neck to prevent his hair from dampening the collar of his baggy shirt.

When he was done cleaning up his mess, he pulled the books out again. There was something he was missing.

The Wall Cult was clearly deeply enrooted in Shiganshina's history. Anyone with eyes could tell you that after reading  _The Cult of Walls_. The streets and the landmarks were all modeled after these three women, Rose, Maria, and Sina. Witches, some sources say, or gods. They were worshipped and scorned either way.

They were all martyred.

Maria had been stabbed twenty seven times and left in the woods. The dagger used in question was the one that he and Eren had spent days and days scouring the woods for as children. So, yeah. There was that. There wasn't much detailing in the book about how it happened, because it'd happened ages ago, but yeah, twenty seven. She'd been left to bleed out on the forest floor, apparently. The past was such a pleasant place.

Rose had drowned. Well, been drowned. Probably the first of many deaths by means of Titan's Maw. According to the book she'd been chased through town, and then through the forest, until reaching the cliff, and then she'd either jumped, or been pushed by some villager or another. They'd fished her body out of the ravine and buried it in a pauper's grave somewhere.

Sina had been burned. Yeah, at the stake. Like any proper witch, Armin supposed. No real fun details there, only that she'd been the last to die.

Armin stared at the book.

Oh.

Oh!

He flipped to the back.

"Shit," he breathed, laying his hand over the furiously scrawled note. In blood. Soil so soaked.

Armin snatched a pen, and began to underline.

Blood. Soil. Waves. Palisades. Shadow. Light.

Below?

What was below?

"Boo."

A chill shot down Armin's spine. Eren was sitting right behind him, practically breathing down his neck. If Eren could breathe. Armin stared at the book a little longer, not bothering to turn around. He knew Eren was there.

"It's really late," Eren said, so close that his words seemed to bleed right into Armin's brain. "It's late, Armin. Go to sleep."

"No, I'm okay."

"Armin…"

Eren appeared before him, sitting on his knees on the floor, his hands folded in his lap. He looked just as tired and lost as Armin and Mikasa. Only he had control over what he looked like. That made things worse.

"I think I'm getting somewhere," Armin whispered, tapping his pen against the back cover of the book, listening to it thump like a disembodied heartbeat. He felt the urge to scratch his knuckles, but he ignored it. "Eren, I really think—"

The book wobbled in his hand.

Armin paused. He looked up at Eren.

There was a crease of frustration carved into his dark forehead, and he gritted his teeth.

"Go," he hissed. The book trembled in Armin's fingers. "Go, you stupid book!"

It teetered drunkenly from Armin's lap and flopped onto the floor.

"Impressive," he remarked earnestly.

"I don't appreciate sarcasm," Eren muttered.

"No, I was being serious."

"Didn't sound like it."

Armin sighed. It was so difficult to please this boy.

"Oh," he said, blinking at his friend. "Eren, you said you'd explain—"

"Um, I have something I want to try," Eren blurted. Armin sat, utterly bemused, and he glanced around the room.

"Try…?" He tilted his head curiously. "Like the piano thing?"

"Yeah… kinda…" Eren shifted. His brown face was losing its color. "I'm going to have to put all my concentration into it, though. So, basically, I'll look horrible. You game?"

Armin grinned at him, and some semblance of feeling returned to his empty chest. "Always," he said.

Eren seemed to relax, and he smiled, his eyes brightening in spite of his appearance deteriorating into what could only be described as an animated corpse. All but the blood and dirt caked to his cheeks seemed to have been drained of color. And, strangely, his lips, which were as plump and flushed with life as they'd been a second before.

Eren reached out, and his fingertips grazed Armin's neck. "Did you feel that?" he asked. Armin felt nothing, but he saw starlight flashing and heard the roar of a waterfall. The world was in slow motion. He shook his head.

"No," he said, smiling weakly. "Sorry."

Eren shrugged, and pressed his hand to Armin's chest, just above his heart. Armin looked down and saw, through the whirring of the world, the rush, and the slowing of life itself, that Eren's fingers had sunken into his chest.

"How about now?" Eren asked, sounding desperate.

"No…" He sighed. "How about you, Eren? Can you feel my heartbeat?"

Armin watched him close his eyes. He shook his head, looking sad and dead. Then, his eyes snapped open, and he leaned forward cautiously.

"How about now?" he asked. Armin waited for his hand to move, and he looked down to see where it went. When he lifted his head again, he found Eren's face so close that he could count the strands of hair that composed his eyebrows, and see the blood caked to his pores. And to Armin's alarm and disbelief, he felt pressure on his lips.

He'd never been kissed before, and it was a strange thought knowing that it was an honor that was given to a dead boy. He honestly did not have an explanation. He'd never done this before, and but he'd be lying if he said he'd never imagined it. Although, Eren was probably more alive in those fantasies than he was now.

The touch of Eren's mouth was so soft that it was practically nonexistent. His lips were tangible, yes, but barely. The feeling of them was cold, and there was no texture to his skin, for all Armin could truly feel was the barest brush of flesh against his mouth. He imagined Eren was concentrating very hard to make even just this little breath of intimacy possible. Armin's lungs seemed to contract in his chest for a moment in guilt. And then they expanded in elation.

Eren was doing this for him.

Armin smiled against his lip, and he wished it were possible for just a little more tangibility, so Armin could touch his shoulder or his neck, or even just push the hair out of his eyes. But the world was cruel, and Eren was dead. Even the realness of his touch seemed to fade, and he was no longer concrete as he kissed Armin. But he didn't seem to care. He had no need to breath, and Armin was not moving, so they stayed like that.

It was nice. It made Armin's chest ache, but it was nice.

Eren pulled back, and Armin realized, pressing his shaky fingers to his lips, and then to his cheeks, that he was blushing fervently. Great.

"Um," he mumbled, rubbing his cheek sheepishly. "Yeah, I felt that."

Eren looked suddenly, positively delighted in spite of his pallid skin and bloody face. He beamed at Armin, his eyes widening and his expression softening. "Really?" he gasped. "Like, really, really? You felt it for sure?"

"Yes…?"

"Awesome." Eren slumped, closing his eyes, and looking absolutely content. "Really awesome. Holy shit!" Then they snapped open urgently. "Wait, that was okay, right? It wasn't weird, or anything, right?"

"It's fine, Eren," Armin whispered, blinking rapidly. He smiled, and let himself relax a little. "I liked it. So it's fine. Do you want to try again, or…?"

Eren stared at him, and he laughed. Then, quickly, he stifled the sound. He shook his head. "Some other time," he said. "I honestly don't think I have the energy to do that again. But rain check. Definitely."

Armin smiled at him, unable to stop. "Okay," he said. He pulled his towel from the floor, realizing it must have fallen from his neck. "So… why, exactly…?"

"I really wanted to try it," Eren admitted, glancing up at the ceiling. "You know, at least once. In case you figure it out, and I go away."

Armin's breath hitched. He didn't want to think about that. "Eren," he began. Eren shook his head.

"Go to sleep," he said firmly. "You can't keep starving yourself of food and sleep, you'll go nuts."

 _Maybe I already am_ , he almost said. He swallowed the words down, and he stood up, moving uncertainly to his bed. He climbed onto it, watching Eren with all his curiosity still abuzz in his head.

"Was that the first time you've really touched someone since…?" Armin couldn't even say it. He laid down, brushing his hair from his eyes and turning to face Eren. He looked sad, and the blood on his side of his face seemed to be getting brighter and brighter while his face got paler and paler. Armin didn't like it. He didn't look right.

"Yes," he whispered.

Armin turned off his lamp, and he watched the room fall into darkness. Still, though, Armin could sense Eren there. He pulled his blanket up to his chin, resting his cheek on his pillow as he inhaled the residual scent of smoke, and once more worried over the safety of everyone around him.

"Eren," he murmured. He knew he was close by.

"Yeah?" He seemed to be sitting on the floor below Armin with his back to the bed. Armin smiled into his blanket, giddy and amazed. He didn't get it.

"Will you be here when I wake up?"

The silence stretched out before them, lying like a blanket of snow. Chilly and fragile.

"I don't know," Eren whispered.

Armin didn't know if he wanted to fall asleep.

Inevitably, even his mind slowed at times, and he was left to drift in an icy pool, his body swishing along the still current, unmoving and bent in such an awkward, awful shape, as though some of his bones had just decided to shift ninety degrees. No pain, of course, no pain, but he was there, and it was odd to be so numb and so terrified.

He was dragged from the water by a pair of strong hands.

He heard sobbing. Perhaps it was his own.

When Armin woke up, there was sunlight filtering in through his window. Eren was gone.

He sat up, groaning and slumping, his muscles stiff and his eyelids heavy.

 _Okay_ , he thought.  _Okay_.

He kicked his blankets away and jumped to his feet. Okay! He stripped his tee shirt and sweat pants off, tugging on a pair of jeans and an oversized red sweatshirt over some flannel shirt or another. He went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and after he did so he tilted his head at his reflection. He looked just as sallow and gauzy eyed as he had the night before, but at least he felt a little better. He puffed out his cheeks, adjusting his bangs so they were not in his eyes. Then he pulled his hair up into a messy, stubby ponytail, and he threw his hood up.

Don't go into the woods.

Don't go into the woods.

Don't go into the—

Well, fuck it.

He left the house, making his way into town with his face pressed into the folds of his sweatshirt, his hands stuck in his pockets to shield them from the chill of the early morning. He walked across the bridge and stopped to admire the river.

 _Murderer_ , he thought to the ceaseless current, to the pebbles and the crags, to the bluish, grayish, whitish stream. He leaned against the stone rail, thumbing the indented graffiti, tales of lovers and liars biting into his skin as the early morning mist rose from the steadily flowing water.

Someone jogged past him. He turned his head, his cheek brushing the red fabric of his hood. He saw the glimmer of her hair first, hand-spun gold spilling from a loose knot at the nape of her slender neck, caressing the little muscles that peeked through the back of her shirt, working effortlessly as she moved. Pale wires bounced from her ears, and without pausing she turned her head back to him. They looked at each other, wisps of her sunshine hair falling into her large blue eyes. Her plump pink lips parted in bemusement, and then she turned her face away, deciding he was not worth staring at.

Sometimes Historia Reiss made him feel invisible. Perhaps that was her intention.

Armin watched her for a while until she disappeared into the path that cut into the woods.

_Don't go into the woods!_

He'd call that to her if he actually gave a fuck.

He'd feel guilty and creepy following her, but he was already a guilt-ridden creep anyway, so it probably didn't matter.

Still, he found himself stuck in place. Something was keeping him here. Staring at the river. Was Eren's body down there somewhere? He felt like someone would have found it, but it was a big river. And of course no one was looking. Just being here made him want to scream onto his throat was raw and sore.

He took a picture of the river with his phone, wind beating at his back.

He scrolled through his pictures, and he found the screenshots of Mikasa's texts, the ones that had ignited this entire search.

How unlike her it was to admit to something.

He stared at her words, her wording, her drunken typing making it difficult to truly understand. Time flows like a river, doesn't it? Don't get stuck in it like he did.

Why did I listen to him, why can't we go back, why don't we go back, I want to go back, let's go back!

Armin read over her text.

Why didn't I lis—

No.

Why didn't I liten to him?

S.

Okay.

Wy can't w go back?

H. E.

Armin bit at the tender skin surrounding his thumbnail.

Why on't we go back?

D.

Shed.

"No way," Armin whispered.

He counted again, he went through it again, substituting letters, but nothing made sense, and the absence of specific letters really did spell out "shed".

Armin wanted to hurl his phone into the river and forget all of this.

He noted someone walking behind him on the other side of the bridge, and out of paranoia he glanced at them. It was a tall man, broad shouldered and proper, his posture impeccable and his overall demeanor almost irrationally put together. Armin envied him.

He caught sight of his face, his chiseled cheekbones and acute gaze, and Armin's eyes widened.

"Hey," he breathed, pushing off the rail and striding hurriedly to catch the man. "Hey!"

The man paused, looking a little alarmed at the sight of Armin, but he smiled politely anyway.

"Hello," he said cautiously, his eyes traveling downward curiously to see beneath Armin's hood. He threw it back, letting his fluffy bangs fall into his eyes, his neck suddenly bare to the frigid morning air.

"Erwin Smith!" Armin gasped, unable to contain himself and pointing rather rudely at the man's face. "You're Erwin Smith!"

 _Way to go, Armin_ , he thought to himself furiously as his face flushed in embarrassment.  _Nailed it_.

"I am," the man said, looking astonished. He tilted his head, peering closer at Armin's face. "I know you."

"Yeah," Armin breathed, blinking fast. "I mean, yes. We met like, years and years ago, so I get it if you don't remember—"

"Armin," Erwin said gently. "I remember you. You fell in Reiss's office."

"Oh. Oh my god." Armin winced, pushing his hands beneath his bangs to hide his shamed face. "Yep, that'd be me."

"Ah, I'm sorry, that's a terrible way to remember someone." Erwin shook his head. "No, I really do remember you, though. You're an excellent hacker, if memory serves."

"Um, yeah…" Armin shifted nervously. "Though I don't really broadcast that. Last time word got around I ended up in the prime minister's office. Not really fun."

"I've always wondered about that." Erwin's eyes were glittering with curiosity. "It was always strange to me that he went to you for information. You were a child, after all."

"I never fully understood it either," Armin admitted. He glanced off into the distance, toward the path were Historia had disappeared into the forest. "I think I can guess, though."

Erwin followed his gaze. He lifted his head, and he nodded slowly. "Ah," he sighed. "Yes. Historia."

Armin jolted in alarm. "You know her?" he gasped.  _If he knows about her_ , he thought,  _then Reiss must too. Meaning_ …

At the back of his mind, this man's voice floated vacantly, information sliding and slithering, " _Sir, you have a call on line one from Mr. Ack_ —"

"I'm acquainted with her, yes. I suppose you must know her well, considering this town's size and your ages. Are you friends—?"

"Is Rod Reiss a friend of Kenny Ackerman's?" Armin blurted, stepping forward and staring intently into Erwin's face. The man had the expression of someone completely innocent, but Armin knew better.  _Oh_ , he thought,  _this guy's exactly like me_.

"Kenny Ackerman," Erwin repeated. A level voice for a level man. Armin could not sense his feelings, and that irritated him. "What do you know of Kenny Ackerman?"

"Um," Armin said, pressing his lips together. "Well, he's my best friend's uncle. And I kinda live in his house at the moment— I mean, he doesn't live there anymore, but he still owns it. Which he likes to point out. A lot."

"You know Mikasa Ackerman?" Erwin asked, letting the slightest bit of eagerness slip into his tone. He was clearly shocked, but he hid it well, and he cocked his head, his eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly. "Of course you would. Everyone knows everyone in this town, I suppose."

"That's not necessarily true," Armin murmured. "How do you know Mikasa?"

"Hm?" Erwin blinked down at him, and he tapped his chin, glancing up at the sky. Armin thought, squinting at his face, noting his long eyelashes and vacant expression, that he must be very good at flirting. Therefore, he was very good at deception. "Ah, I only met her a few times, and she was very small then. She most likely won't remember me, but I was a friend of her cousin's—"

"You knew Levi too?" Armin couldn't believe this. "Wait, that's why you're so wary about talking about Kenny, because you know. Don't deny it! You know he's a monster, and you don't want me to get involved, but look, I'm living in his house, I've seen what he can do, and I'm prepared to face the consequences of the truth!"

"Now you've lost me." Erwin's lips were parted slightly as he tried to follow Armin's thought process. "Are you speaking of Kenny's abuse?"

"Yes, that'd be one thing." Armin folded his arms across his chest, and he scowled out at the river, feeling that things were shifting. Pieces were falling and cracking their spines as they shifted into place. "He beat Levi, didn't he?"

Erwin stared at him. Here Armin was, sticking his nose where it shouldn't be. Connecting Eren's murder to Levi's would not be hard if Armin had this man on his side, he just knew it.

"I suppose," Erwin sighed, leaning his back against the stone rail, "you must have seen Kenny's nature firsthand if you are truly so close with Mikasa."

"He whipped me once," Armin blurted. He could not keep in his hatred for the man any longer. Secrets were bleeding from his every orifice, too much, too much, too much to contain any longer. He was crumbling. "I back-talked him— I'll spare you what I said, but it was pretty awful, and I was pretty weak, and he whipped me with his belt. I had to lie to my grandpa and say I cut my back climbing a chainlink fence."

"Levi told me," Erwin said quietly, his eyes turned toward the expansive river, wearing an utterly blank expression, "never to speak to him. Before I even met him, Levi warned me to keep my— ah, how did he phrase it… he said something like, "keep your big fucking mouth shut, or I swear I'll be the one to break your pretty face". He was a very pleasant fellow to be around, you can imagine."

"I can." Armin thought of the bloody man who had insisted that Armin leave Mikasa's room. Levi's room. Oh. "Pretty?"

"It might have been prissy," Erwin sighed. "He liked to use those interchangeably when it came to me. Apparently I have an "aristocratic air" to me. You're probably very lucky you didn't know him, Armin, he was a piece of work."

Armin wanted to count himself lucky, but he knew he'd met Levi, and he knew it was not a pleasant thing to be around him. What had happened to him to make him so angry and violent?

"How did you meet?"

"Oh." Erwin chuckled, nodding his head in a slow, wistful motion. "Well, when we were teenagers we both had a particular taste for breaking the law. So, street racing. Mind you, Levi was a juvenile delinquent and I was valedictorian, futbol captain, and in the majority of the extra curriculars my school offered. I attended a boarding school in Trost, but I lived here during the summer, so I knew Levi by reputation. I think he hated me on principal."

"You sound like you're good at everything," Armin blurted, staring at the man in awe.

"No, that's not true." Erwin rested his elbows against the gray stone rail, and he lifted his head so Armin could see the sharp line of his jaw and the muscles of his neck beneath his heavy scarf. "Levi was better than me in almost everything. The only trouble was that he was an angry, reclusive, apathetic individual who did not want any attention. Academically he struggled, most of which was not his fault— it's very difficult to remember now, but he never liked reading. I believe he was dyslexic, but he never really told me anything about it. Is this boring for you, Armin? I'm sorry, I'm getting carried away with myself, it's been years since I've talked about him to anyone who didn't know him as well as I did."

"It's absolutely fine!" Armin gasped. "Mikasa doesn't like to talk about him, and I honestly didn't even know he existed until like, yesterday."

Erwin laughed. "Does she really not talk about him?" He looked curious, but also a little sad, which Armin found endlessly fascinating. "That's strange, Levi adored her."

Armin stared at him. His interest in what Erwin was saying, which had already been high, increased ten fold. "He did?" he asked eagerly. "Mikasa said that he was really distant and weird."

"Well, yes, he was." Erwin rolled his eyes, a small smirk pulling away at his lips. He seemed to be smiling fondly at old memories, and Armin pitied him, because he pitied himself, because this man reminded Armin his own troubles. "Like I said, he was apathetic and reclusive, and he hardly ever showed what he was feeling. But anyone with eyes could see he loved that little girl. See, she didn't visit often, but when she did she was practically attached to his hip. Levi was very adamant about his personal space, but he was never not holding her hand, or carrying her on his back. It was strange, he honestly seemed to forget she was there sometimes, and just go about his business barking his usual unpleasantries at people with her watching and listening with her chin on his shoulder."

Armin tried to imagine it. It wasn't hard. He found himself smiling, and then frowning, because now he understood. If Levi really did love Mikasa that much, no wonder he was still hanging around her. Only… why would he try to kill her?

"I've known Mikasa since we were little kids," Armin whispered, "and she never said a thing about him."

"His disappearance was… difficult." Erwin bowed his head, and his face grew dark and shadowy from what could only be suppressed rage. "For all of us. I remember seeing her at the service for him, and it was hard even for me to watch her. You wouldn't believe how many people bothered her, giving her and her parents their condolences. It was as though they were Levi's real family, and Kenny was just some place holder that got to hold the title for the sake of legality. Everyone knew that Kenny bore no love for his son, and yet no one had done a thing about it."

Armin took a deep breath. It was shaky. He was shaky.

"And they let him have Mikasa anyway," he hissed, angry and disgusted. "You say everyone knew about Kenny, so why did no one stop him?"

"I tried," Erwin admitted. "I asked for custody of Mikasa, and our friend Hange tried as well despite hardly even knowing the girl, but because Kenny was her last living blood relative, the rights automatically went to him. I'm still bitter about it."

Armin tried to imagine what life would have been like if Mikasa Ackerman had been taken in by this man instead of her uncle.

He felt that he knew for a solid fact that everyone would be so much happier, and Eren would probably be alive.

"So then you worked for the prime minister," Armin said, folding his arms across his chest. "How did that work out for you?"

"I sense you're judging me," Erwin sighed, "but you should understand better than anyone. In order to gain valuable information, you must be willing to lie down in the dirt and take whatever you can get. I know Rod Reiss better than he knows himself."

"Then," Armin said in an equally soft, languid tone, "you must know his connection to Kenny Ackerman."

Erwin glanced down at him. His brow furrowed.

"Of course," he said evenly, smiling down at Armin, the sweetest of smiles. "However, I'll be frank with you, Armin. You are nothing but a vague acquaintance to me."

"An information trade, then," Armin insisted. "I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"You assume you have any information worth having."

"If the prime minister called for me personally," he said, schooling his features, "then I imagine I must be very good at what I do."

Erwin looked at him. Bait. Hooked. The line wobbled.

"I'll think about it."


	11. Chapter 11

**open sesame**

Children are so much smarter than anyone gives them credit for.

He remembered Mikasa's initial arrival, her dead eyes and vacant features, and he remembered Eren's insistent nature attacking the wall she'd put up around herself. It had only taken… what, a few days maybe, to knock it down. But Armin remembered sitting in his classroom, swinging his feet idly, for they did not reach the floor, and resting his chin on his desk as Eren chatted excitedly behind him. The rule of the classroom was shortest in the front and tallest in the back. Armin ended up sitting next to Christa Lenz more often than not. She'd been quiet the past few days. He remembered, because the teacher had kept pulling her outside to speak with her privately, and everyone in the class knew something was wrong, so they kept quiet and listened with bated breath, but never heard a thing.

Mikasa was pulled into the classroom by the hand of a tall, sallow faced man.

Immediately Christa Lenz stiffened. Armin had looked at her curiously. She'd gone completely ashen, her tiny fingers gripping the wooden desk, her knuckles white and her lips parted. She looked like death had swallowed her, chewed her up, and regurgitated her.

"It's nice to see you again, Mr. Ackerman," their teacher said, though Armin could sense she didn't mean it. "Class, this is Mikasa Ackerman. She'll be attending school here for the rest of the year, so I expect all of you to treat her kindly."

"Question!" Connie Springer, who sat on the other side of Armin, had shot his hand into the air. There was a gap between their desks. "Where'd you even come from?"

"That's very insensitive, Connie," their teacher had said.

"What?"

"Not nice."

"Oh. Sorry. But I really wanna know, 'cause it's not like we've ever seen her before, y'know? Where'd you go to school before, Mikasa?"

There was a minute of silence.

"Far away," Kenny answered for her, because Mikasa would not look up at them.

Christa's hand shot into the air, similar to Connie's, and their teacher had sighed. "Yes, Christa?"

"May I be excused?" she asked. She sounded breathless. Armin had eyed her, and in his observations he could tell that she was not okay. He hesitantly shifted in his seat so he was not so close to her, for he did not want to get puked on.

"Excused where?" Their teacher stared at Christa, and she shook in her seat, sinking slowly as all eyes turned on her, and her complexion went from ashen to sickly sallow, the yellowish green pigment of someone who was truly about to vomit.

"T-the lavatory," she mumbled, squeezing her eyes shut. "Please… ple…" She clapped her hands over her mouth and lurched to her feet, fleeing the room with such a great speed that she left a gust of wind in her wake, Armin's hair going askew. His mouth fell open, and he stared at the vacant seat beside him confusedly. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to face Eren.

"What the heck?" he mouthed, pointing to the empty desk. Armin blinked. He shrugged vacantly.

Something had really upset her. That's what Armin knew. So what had it been? Mikasa? Kenny? Or maybe it had simply been the name Ackerman that had sent Christa Lenz into the bathroom, puking her guts out into a porcelain toilet.

Their teacher had ran to make sure Christa was okay, leaving the class without an adult except Kenny Ackerman. They'd all stared at him. He'd gripped Mikasa's shoulder tightly. And then, a little too harshly, he'd nudged her toward the empty seat beside Armin.

"But someone's already…" Mikasa objected.

"Just sit your ass down."

Half the class gasped outrageously, while the other half just giggled immaturely. Armin and Eren just glanced at each other, their eyes meeting and comprehending the others' thoughts. This guy was trouble. This girl, however, was not.

Mikasa sat down beside Armin, completely rigid, her face an impassive mask, like a work of a Venetian glass maestro, carefully strung about over an open flame and made to be perfect and stoic forever and ever. At least until it shattered.

Something, Armin noted, she and Christa Lenz had in common.

"Right," Kenny said, incredibly loud and incredibly harsh. "How old are you brats, anyway? You ever gone hunting before?"

"I go hunting!" Sasha Braus cried behind Connie.

"Get up here."

Sasha jumped to her feet and bounced excitedly to the front of the class. She paused a good few meters from Kenny. She stared at him, her expression transforming. She threw a glance at Mikasa, and then back at Kenny. She looked very confused.

"I want you," Kenny said, reaching out and snatching Sasha by the wrist, "to take a piece of chalk." She squeaked, and behind Armin, Eren buckled in fury, his knees knocking painfully against the underside of his wooden desk. "Got it? Get a piece of chalk."

"You're hurting me!" Sasha squirmed under his grip. Mikasa sat very still beside Armin, not even flinching. He stared at her, desperate for her to make the man stop, but she did not look at him. She did not seem to be looking at anything.

"I want you to explain to the class," Kenny said, "the fastest way to kill, gut, and skin a stag. Got it?"

"Let go of me!"

The whole class sat and watched in silent horror.

"Just do it."

"Let go of her!" Connie finally cried.

"Would you like to explain instead?" Kenny rounded on Connie, who flinched and shrunk into his seat. "Come on, this is school, isn't it? Someone get your ass up here and explain!"

Mikasa stood up. Armin reached for her feebly, his fingers catching on the elbow of her sweater, tugging her back as she attempted to get to the front of the class. She glanced down at him, her eyes flashing with something like life. He shook his head at her, his mouth open in shock.

A loud, reverberating  _crash_  sounded behind them, the sound of a chair colliding with another desk. Armin exhaled shakily as Eren marched to the front of the class, his head high and his jaw set in determination.

"I'll do it," he said. He stood between Kenny and Sasha, staring at his bony fingers around her wrist. He walked right into their hands, forcing Kenny to let go, and Sasha stumbled back, clutching her wrist tearfully.

"Wow. Looks like one of you has balls. What's your name, kid?"

"Eren Jaeger," he said sharply, his rage palpable as he strode up to the board, cracking his knuckles. "So, what? Killing, gutting, skinning a deer? That's what you want?"

"Sure, kid. Whatever."

He smiled venomously at the man, and picked up a piece of chalk. The sound of it grazing the chalkboard was like razorblades swiping against each other. Armin realized what he was doing, and he sunk into his seat, his mouth open in horror.  _Eren, no_ , he thought, unwilling to look away from this train wreck in motion.  _You dummy, you idiot, don't you dare—!_

Too late.

Eren stepped away from the board, which consisted of two circles and an oval. The entire class, sans Mikasa and Armin, erupted with laughter. Armin could see Kenny's fury, which was chilly and eerily calm. He probably would have bashed Eren's head into the chalkboard if their teacher had not walked in. She froze in the doorway, staring openmouthed at the obscenity on the chalkboard.

"Eren Jaeger!" their teacher shrieked. "What on earth is this?"

"This?" Eren beamed up at the crude rendition of a penis on the board. "Well, Mrs. Carolina, this is my portrait of Mr. Ackerman! It's just the rough sketch, though."

"Oh my god," Armin exhaled, laughter bubbling up in his chest. The sound emitting from the classroom was like a thousand monkey's shrieking in unison as they fell apart in their cackles and guffaws. Even Mikasa laughed, giggling into her hands, staring at Eren as though he were the sun incarnate.

"Go to the principal right now!" Mrs. Carolina seethed. Her daughter was near the front of the class, laughing along with Connie. "Armin, escort him. Make sure his parents are called."

He muffled his laughter, and he nodded, jumping to his feet and hurrying from the room with Eren following smugly behind him. He shot Mikasa a bright smile as he passed her, giving her a thumbs up. When they were out in the hall, Armin shoved Eren very hard.

"You're so stupid!" he gasped, still laughing. "Mr. Ackerman's going to murder you!"

"Yeah, yeah." Eren stretched his arms over his head. "I'm more worried about what my ma's gonna say. Oh man. I'm gonna get beat. Armin, if I die, you can have my gameboy."

"I don't want your gameboy."

Eren glanced at him incredulously. He scoffed and strode faster to pass Armin out. "Weirdo!"

"Eren!" Armin squeaked, hurrying after him. "Stop going so fast! My legs aren't that long!"

"Not my fault!"

Eren ran down the steps of their elementary school two at a time, far too ready to proudly proclaim his wrongdoings to their principal. Armin finally caught up, he stood outside the office door, breathing heavily. He paused. The sharp, breathy sound of someone weeping made him turn very slowly. At the base of the steps, sitting with her pretty face flushed and streaked with fresh, fat tears, Christa sobbed. Her mouth was pressed into her knees, and as Armin drifted closer, he could smell vomit.

"Christa…?" He stood before her. She looked up at him, her blue eyes glassy and her expression shattered. Her sleek blonde hair was knotted and twisted and thrown askew, to violently mussed that she looked half a gremlin or a witch, something monstrous that lived in the burrows of the forest and feasted on human flesh.

She sobbed louder at the sight of him.

He threw a look back at the office door. Eren would not deny what he'd done. He didn't need to be in there.

He sat beside Christa cautiously, and she flinched from him. He stared at her confusedly.

"Hey," he whispered. He placed a hand on her back, and she jolted in shock as he hesitantly rubbed circles into her spine. "It's okay. It's okay…"

* * *

It wasn't like Armin thought he was a nice person. He knew he sucked. It was all a matter of how much he was willing to let others know how terrible he was.

He was slipping up.

And the worst part was, he hardly even cared anymore.

Let them judge him.

Let them fear him.

He entered a bar at nearly eight in the morning, and he felt like he probably was going to lose everything soon enough. Acting reckless was natural to a guy who realized he had nothing left to lose. His eyes scanned the empty bar, and he spotted the man behind the counter. And he spotted him as well.

"Armin!" Reiner cried, looking astonished. He was wiping down the bar, blinking wildly. "Damn, what are you doing in here?"

"What?" Armin stuffed his hands into his sweatshirt, walking up to the bar and hopping up onto a stool. "I can't say hi to a friend?"

"You hate bars and you hate drinking and it's super early, bro, something's up." Reiner cracked his knuckled, his heavy brow causing his eyes to shadow over. "Do I have to beat someone up?"

"No, no," Armin said, waving his hand quickly. "Don't beat anyone up. I'm… okay, you heard about the fire, right?"

"Yeah…" Reiner frowned at him, leaning forward. "Was it really Kenny?"

"Maybe."  _Or_ , he thought,  _maybe not_. He tapped his fingers rapidly against the bar, thinking of Erwin Smith. He needed to make sure he had information that the man would really, truly bite at. No, he could worry about that later. First and foremost… "Would you do a job for me if I asked?"

"Of course," Reiner said thoughtlessly.  _Fool_ , Armin thought sadly. "Just say the word, Armin, and I'll wreck him."

"No." Armin shook his head. "I don't want you to get caught. Seriously. Pin it on someone else if you have to— just be careful. What I want, actually, is a mechanical job. Do you think you could strip Kenny's bike?"

Reiner's eyes lit up. "Do I think I can…?" He scoffed, and he thumped his chest with his fist. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to? Consider that bike already trashed."

"Awesome," Armin gasped, his eyes bright. "One more thing, though."

"Name it."

"Can I see your guestcheck book?" he asked. Reiner blinked, and he pulled it from beneath the bar, plucking a pen from behind his ear and handing it over. Armin began to scrawl a list of names off the top of his head, watching his quick handwriting swirl across the yellow pad. He tore it out and handed it to Reiner, who took it vacantly. "Here's a list of people who will definitely pay for any parts you'll salvage from the bike. When you have the money, just deposit it into the account at the bottom of the slip. Okay?"

Reiner looked wary for the first time. He glanced up at Armin, and he squinted cautiously. "What's this about?" he asked finally.

Armin sighed. "Mikasa lost the garage," he explained. "That's the only way she can make rent. And I don't have a job right now. I'm going to get back into the hacking business, but for now, don't you think it'd be poetic for Kenny's bike to pay our rent for the month?"

Reiner's face split into the most feral grin Armin had ever seen. He underestimated Reiner's capacity for cruelty.

"You are a little shit," he said proudly. He rubbed Armin's hair affectionately, tugging on his ponytail and laughing. "Love this look on you, by the way. Very Pollyanna."

"That's really, really comforting, thank you." Armin tossed his hood up, jumping off the stool. "I owe you one. Just remember my policy. No nudes, no doxxing without a solid reason, and don't make me ruin a minor's life. And no one we know really well. I probably won't murder anyone for you, either."

"Probably?" Reiner leaned against his knuckle, smirking at him. "You know, seven years ago the policy was you'd  _never_  murder for me."

"I guess I've changed," Armin said, laughing. "Thanks, Reiner."

"No problem, man. Anything for the cause." The man grinned and threw Armin a two fingered mock salute.

"Wow," Armin said as he shouldered the door open. "We literally have no shame."

"Welcome to adulthood!" Reiner howled.

"I want to leave," Armin admitted, shaking his head as he left. "See you later!"

"Bye, Armin!"

It was nice to have friends.

Amazingly, Armin didn't feel terrible today, so he decided to go to the café and get a bagel and coffee. As he stood in line, he recalled something. He ordered another coffee and bagel, thanking the barista and hurrying out the door. It was warmer now than it'd been earlier that morning, and the fog was gone, thankfully. Armin wondered where Eren was. He wondered when Mikasa and Jean would notice he was gone. He shrugged it off, heading down an alleyway, throwing a glance at the hole in the wall where the missing brick glared like a gap-toothed smile.

It was almost nine, and Armin was thankful that the store was open. He nudged the door until he was able to slip through it, a little bell ringing in his wake. Historia looked up at him, opening her mouth to greet him until her eyes flashed with recognition.

"Oh," she said. "It's you."

"Um," he said weakly, flushing in embarrassment. "Yeah. Hi."

She'd gone home and changed since he'd seen her jogging that morning. Now she wore a high waisted skirt with patterned tights, a long-sleeved cable knit crop top bearing maybe a sliver of her midriff as she folded her arms across her chest.

"Is that for me?" she asked, pointing at the extra coffee in his hand.

"Yes." He set it down at her desk as well as the bag of bagels. "I said I owed you a coffee."

"I didn't think you'd actually remember…" She bit her lip, looking down at her feet. They were both quiet. Armin felt guilty. He didn't trust her at all, but he still felt guilty.

"I'm sorry," he blurted. She glanced at him, her dim eyes widening. "Honestly, what I did was… totally uncalled for. Invasive and manipulative, and you didn't deserve it."

She wrung her hands as he spoke. She picked at her cuticles, scraping the powdery blue nail polish away, her glossy blonde hair falling into her eyes.

"I really don't get you," she whispered. He stared at her. She sighed and shook her head. "I'm not angry at you, Armin. You can sleep easy, if that's what you're worried about."

"No," Armin gasped. "No, I genuinely… I'm here because I really, really feel bad."

"Are you lying?" She threw him a sharp glance. He froze, his mouth falling open. "Yes, I think you are."

"What do you want me to say?" He held his coffee gingerly, his head bowing and his bangs falling into his eyes.

"I want you to be honest," she replied vacantly. "For once in your life, just actually admit how fucked up you are."

"I do that regularly."

She stared at him. She smacked her forehead, laughing in disbelief. "You're hopeless!" she gasped. She snatched her coffee from the desk, taking a swig and leaning back against the wall. "There's a psychology term for what you're doing, if you want to know it."

"Not really," he said, shifting in discomfort.

"You're so typical." She thumbed the lid of her coffee, staring at it vacantly. "You can hang out here if you're scared to go home."

He stood, alarmed and bemused, because he didn't really understand her either. "How'd you know…?"

"You really don't need to be a Psych major to know that, Armin," she said. He stared at her. And then, he shrugged, and took a sip of his own coffee. It was so bitter that he had to wince, and it scalded his tongue and the roof of his mouth, peeling the skin right off it.

"Okay," he said after finding a chair and pulling it up to her desk. They were both eating their bagels in silence. "Do you know Erwin Smith?"

She blinked at him confusedly, ripping a chunk of her bagel away. "Uh," she said, "yeah, actually. How do  _you_  know him?"

"Well…." Armin chewed mechanically, swallowing hard. He hadn't eaten in awhile. It hurt going down, scraping his gullet. He cleared his throat. "Okay, when I was younger, your dad summoned me."

"Summoned." Her eyes narrowed. "Like a demon."

"Is that a joke?"

"Yes, Armin."

He flushed. "Um, okay, sorry, anyway," he breathed hurriedly, "when I went there, he was asking about you— he wanted me to find you for some reason, I don't know why, but I said no, and on my way out I kinda… tripped…"

She stared at him.

"I know. I'm so typical."

"No," she said quietly, staring down at her hands. "Just… you said no."

"I… yeah…" He straightened up. "Is that weird?"

"I just didn't think you cared that much."

"He made me really, really uncomfortable."

"Yeah, he has that effect."

"Okay, enlighten me," Armin said, leaning forward. "Why did you lie about who you were?"

"You realize that my entire existence is a giant fucking controversy, right?" She spoke in a very slow, very calm tone, as though it didn't bother her at all. Armin knew better. "My dad sent me here when I was little. He told me I was Christa Lenz. I listened. Case closed."

"He was looking for you, though," Armin objected. "He didn't know where you were!"

"He knew exactly where I was, he was just trying to get you to spy on me, or get me to talk to him again, or something." She closed her eyes, and he realized how much he pitied her. Even though she was a suspect, he really, truly pitied her. "Erwin said he used to be my father's secretary. I don't really know if I trust him. Do you trust him?"

"I don't really know if I trust anyone," he murmured.

She smiled at him wanly. "That's a good way to live," she said.

He looked into her eyes, feeling bloated and nauseous, and he shook his head. "No," he said. "It's really not."

She blinked at him. Sunlight trickled through the window, and he followed its spindly rays as they hit a magnifying glass sitting on a desk littered with all sorts of antique junk, and light fractured around it, shimmering against the wood and the books and the paneled ceiling. Armin stood up, wandering up to it. He plucked up the magnifying glass, turning it over in his hands.

"You have some cool stuff here," he said.

"Yeah. It's an antique store. That's kind of the point."

He glanced at her. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes were wary. He smiled at her brightly.

"Do you want to play a game?" he asked her.

Her mouth opened. It closed. Her shock had left her speechless, and he utilized that. He set the magnifying glass down, and he began to sift through the store, dragging out trunks and flinging them open.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, rushing out from behind her desk as he flung coats and scarves from the padded, yellowed inside of the heavy wooden trunk. The coats smelled distinctly of mothballs, and as he threw mink and satin and tweed and fleece onto the floor, he heard them rolling at the bottom, the scent of them making him dizzy, his eyesight blurry. He ignored it.

"There we go!" He threw a heavy blue Inverness cape over his shoulders, wondering how strange it looked with his bright red hoodie. It smelled like dust, chemicals, and must. Historia gaped at him, her pale hair curling about her rosy cheeks, and he thought that maybe he could make things right with her, maybe gain even just a little bit of her trust.

"Armin," she exhaled, blinking rapidly. "You look ridiculous."

"Yes, I know." He snatched the magnifying glass from the desk, and he held it over one eye, squinting one closed. "Who am I?"

In the haze of the lens, he saw her shift. She edged closer to him, her chin cupped in her hand as she circled him, overstepping the piles of coats he'd left on the floor. Then she whirled away, disappearing behind a shelf of books and leaving Armin to lower his hand, the magnifying glass pressing into his side. He slumped. Well that didn't work, he thought.

He jumped as Historia reappeared, jumping over the pile of coats and standing on her tip-toes to rest a hat on his head.

"Ta da!" Historia bounced back on her heels. "Sherlock Holmes!"

Armin stared at her, bewildered.

He laughed in disbelief. "Yeah!" he gasped, adjusting the deerstalker hat. "You don't happen to have a pipe, do you?"

"Of course." She walked over to the desk, opening a drawer and pulling a long, smooth ebony box from it. She opened it, withdrawing a black tobacco pipe with a curved stem, a fleur de lis carved expertly into the surface of the bowl. Armin watched her fiddle with it for a minute or so, and he tilted his head. Then, to his surprise, she stuck the bit in her mouth, taking a lighter from the pocket of her skirt and striking at it until a flame was produced. The tobacco inside the pipe cindered, and a puff of smoke unfurled from her plump pink lips. She offered the pipe out to him, and he took it carefully. The smoke tasted… different. Like, genuinely flavored in comparison to Jean's cigarettes, and it surprised him. He blinked as the smoke fell from his mouth, dancing around his eyes.

"Cool," he said, taking another puff.

Historia ran to her desk to grab her phone, and she took a picture of him like that.

"You're turn," he said, hopping up onto her desk, still smoking the pipe. She stared at him vacantly, her phone still in hand. "I mean, dress up as someone or something. And I have to guess what it is."

"Oh," she said. She nodded slowly. "Okay…" She bit her lip nervously. She picked up some of the coats, tossing them back into the trunk, frowning to herself. Her eyes brightened, and she threw the rest of the coats into the trunk, pushing it toward a wardrobe near the back of the shop. She hopped onto the trunk, standing on her tip toes to snatch a tiara from the top of the wardrobe.

Armin watched as she began shuffling around the store, rearranging things as she went, probably taking inventory, and then finally getting everything she needed in one place. Armin gasped as she pulled her shirt off, and he quickly clapped his hand over his eyes, the pipe still in hand.

"What?"

"You could have warned me you were getting undressed."

"I honestly thought we were both too gay for this, but okay."

"I'm not gay," he sighed.

"Well…" She sighed with an equal amount of wistfulness. "Okay, neither am I, technically, but it applies."

 _I guess it does for me too_ , he thought. "Are you bi?" he asked, his hand still covering his eyes. "Oh. I mean, if that's not too invasive—"

"You overestimate how much I care, I think." Armin listened to the sound of fabric sliding against skin. "I don't know. I think I like boys sometimes. Sometimes I really, really don't. I definitely like girls more than I like boys, but… mostly I'm not sure if I'm capable of liking people at all."

"Ymir?"

"Special circumstance."

"Demisexuality is a thing."

"I'm going to pretend like I know what that is for your sake." He heard the sound of a zipper, the clipped sound of it zooming upwards. "What about you?"

"Me?"

"Are you bi?"

"Maybe." He brought the pipe to his lips, his eyes still closed. "On some level, probably. It never mattered much."

"Do you not like labels, or something?"

"Right back at you. You don't know your sexuality." He thought about it for a few seconds. "Though, that fits your modus operandi, considering you have major identity issues."

"Ha ha. Maybe you should be a Psych major. Asshole."

"I'm sorry, that was insensitive, wasn't it?" He winced. "I'm really sorry."

"You're such a pushover, Armin. Chill. You can open your eyes too, I'm dressed."

He let his hand fall into his lap, and he saw that she'd changed into a slim back dress. It was very plain, going to about her knees and cut carefully so her collarbone was visible. It was sleeveless. Armin tilted his head. He didn't get it.

"Pretty," he said, puffing smoke as he spoke.

She shrugged, clasping a string of pearls around her neck. "I can't tell what's real with you," she sighed. She flipped her head upside down and began gathering her golden hair, twisting it into a quick, careful bun.

"You can't tell what's real with  _me_?" He pulled the pipe from his lips. "At least not every facet of my identity is a lie."

She said nothing. She glanced at him, her eyes dull and drooping with every word he spoke, and he felt guilty. She tugged on a pair of long white gloves, and set the tiara on her head.

"Guess who I am," she said flatly.

He stared.

"Oh!" he gasped, swinging his feet. "Oh, I know this! Breakfast at Tiffany's! Oh, what's her name…"

"Your memory is terrible."

He scowled at her. "Holly Golightly," he said. He pulled his phone from his pocket and snapped a picture of her.

"Hm." Historia twirled around and around. "Or maybe your memory isn't terrible. Maybe you just pretend you can't remember stuff. Don't you have eidetic memory? You should probably act like it."

Armin rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay." He offered her the pipe, and she took it, closing her mouth around the bit and staring at him.

"So?" She breathed smoke into his face, but he didn't mind. "How do I look?"

Stunning, of course. Historia was naturally very beautiful, but the outfit gave her a sort of elegance that she lacked without a crown weighing on her head or pearls wringing her pale, dainty throat.

"Nice," he told her gently.

The door opened, a bell ringing softly and resounding as Ymir paused midstep, her eyes flashing between Historia and Armin.

"Why do I always walk in on you two as though you're in the middle of filming the foreplay of a porno?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Ew," they said in unison. Historia backed away from him, folding her arms across her chest.

"We're just playing a game," Armin explained.

"That does not make your situation look any better, buddy." Ymir strode up to him, patting his cheek a little too hard. "But nice try."

"No, that's literally exactly what we're doing, though!"

"She knows that," Historia sighed. "She's just busting your ass."

"Guilty!" Ymir sang. She pointed at the pipe in Historia's small fingers. "Stop that. You quit smoking."

"It's not even smoking, it's like smoking a cigar."

"Still smoking? Like…?"

"Whatever." She handed the pipe back to Armin. There wasn't much left inside it. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with it. "Did you come here for something?"

"Kinda wanted to kiss my girlfriend, but I mean, if she's gonna be a bitch I'll just kiss Sherlock here instead." And to Armin's immense alarm and discomfort, Ymir swooped down and caught his lips just as he'd parted them to let the smoke out. He struggled a little, a strangled half-shout muffled against her tongue, and he realized this was probably his first real kiss, and it meant nothing because Ymir was just doing it to fuck with Historia, and as far as Armin knew, Ymir was hardcore only interested in girls. Which made this worse.

She pulled away, wiping her mouth. "Tastes like smoke," she said. "Reminds me a lot of you, lovely girl."

"Unlike me," Historia said viciously, "he didn't actually reciprocate. Apologize."

Ymir quirked an eyebrow. She glanced at Armin, and she nodded. "Well, oops. Sorry. Guess I didn't consider your feelings, huh?"

There were a lot of things that shocked him. Firstly, Historia had not been concerned with the fact that her girlfriend had kissed him, but that it had not been consensual. Secondly, Ymir had apologized regardless of if she meant it, purely because Historia had told her to. And thirdly, Eren was standing behind Historia, glaring at Ymir so fiercely that Armin thought she might just spontaneously combust.

"I have feelings?" Armin offered.

She laughed very loudly. Too loudly. Eren just kept glaring at her, his appearance shuddering, blood washing his face one moment and disappearing the next. He was unstable.

"You  _need_  to learn to think more highly of yourself," Ymir crowed, clapping Armin on the back. "Like, do you ever change? You're the exact same spineless little shit I knew in high school."

 _You don't know me at all, Ymir_ , he wanted to say. Instead he let her words hit him like a quick succession of blows to the stomach. He saw Historia press her satin white knuckles to her lips, her large blue eyes flashing between them. She looked perpetually in a state of dreaming, like a porcelain doll left in the attic for too long, and her perfect glass eyes had grown filmy with dust and cobwebs.

Eren did not make a sound. He was merely there. Observing from the shadows. A true ghost, flickering unsteadily, sucking the warmth and the joy from the air. Armin was on edge.

"Maybe I should go," Armin suggested, sliding off the desk.

"That's a good idea." Historia pushed her hair from her eyes, her hasty bun beginning to droop at the crown of her head.

"Wait," Ymir said. "Let me take a picture of you two first."

"For what, blackmail?" Armin fished his phone out of his pocket and handed it to her. She took it, rolling her eyes.

"Please. If I wanted to blackmail you, I wouldn't use an innocent little photo like this. I'm better than that."

"You keep telling yourself that," Historia sighed.

"What game were you even playing?" Ymir asked as she fiddled with Armin's phone. Historia draped her arm around Armin, making a show of it for the photo and sticking the bit of the pipe between her teeth. Armin took up his magnifying glass again, peering at Ymir and the phone with it. "You two are like giant toddlers."

"You're jealous," Historia said.

"Yeah, sure, okay."

"You are," she cooed. "You're jealous!"

Armin glanced down at her. She had her chin tipped jauntily, her eyes bright and surprisingly gleeful. It was a nice change. Ymir tossed his phone at him, and he caught it quickly. She puffed out her dark cheeks, her freckles staining every centimeter of her skin, and around her eyes they clung to her like a clustered mask of sand.

She hummed very loudly, taking long, quick strides across the store and tearing a deep blue scarf with crochet lace trimmings from a rack. It was made of very light, airy fabric, and it caught on the light and turned shimmery and silvery from slim, interwoven gray threads within the fabric.

"I like this," she said, holding it up. "I'm taking it."

"Go ahead."

"There was some weird lens glare in that photo," she said as Armin began to thumb through the pictures she'd taken. Pictures. Plural. She'd taken at least ten. All the while there was a strange shred of fluctuating light that moved around above Historia's head, shifting eerily from photo to photo until the penultimate one where the light caved in and formed the contours of a round, pallid face, shadowy pits for eyes glowering into the camera lens. Armin quickly, anxiously, flicked to the next photo. Thankfully the face was gone, and this one was normal.

"The light's weird in here," Historia whispered. Her breath was visible. Armin glanced at her, and he saw that Eren was hovering over her, his face stark and his eyes hollow and blood oozing from his head, darkening his already damp, dripping hair. It crawled down his neck in slow rivulets. They plopped against the floor, one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one, and Armin was mesmerized, because it looked so real.

Historia's eyes were big and horrified, cast toward the ground as she shivered and turned away. She walked right through Eren, rolling her shoulders and taking a deep breath.

"You okay?" Ymir asked her as she tore the gloves off and toss them aside, ripping the tiara from her hair and letting unruly blonde strands slip against her cheeks and neck.

"Fine," she said evenly, unhooking the pearls from her throat. Armin pulled the hat from his head, and after throwing Eren a confused look, he followed the path Historia had made when retrieving the deerstalker cap. It was a narrow little nook in the store that led to a storage area. He hung the hat on a hook and before he headed back out he let his eyes wander around the mounted shelves and the stacks of boxes, the taste of dust and mildew clawing at his throat, leaving him breathless and lightheaded and delighted. He tilted his head.

His eyes had landed on a glass case. There was a knife inside, a beautiful dagger with a hilt carved out of ivory, three unblinking eyes staring at him vacantly. He drew closer, holding his breath. He stared at it. At the eyes and the long, thin blade. It was a pretty thing. Why not display it?

Armin knew why.

"What are you doing back here?"

Eren had appeared at his side, as bright and warm as ever, his face dark and brown and filled with life, his eyes glowing like ignited gemstones, and Armin smiled at him brightly.

"Oh," he laughed, folding the cape he'd been wearing under one arm, keeping the other in his pocket. "There's just a lot of cool stuff, I got distracted. Shh, though!" He pressed his finger to his lips. "I can't be talking to myself right now, remember?"

"Oh." Eren glanced away, transparency attacking his legs and arms, and he looked somewhat dejected. "Right."

Armin stared, because he knew that there was nothing he could do or say that would make Eren feel better, and it made him feel like the most useless heap of garbage to ever walk the planet. There were no words to describe how awful Armin felt about Eren's situation.  _I want this in reverse_ , he thought fiercely.  _I'd do anything. I'd do anything to be dead in your place_.

He knew it'd be better that way. Armin had no living blood relatives. Mikasa would never admit it, but she loved and depended on Eren more than she did him. And she was the only one that mattered, anyway. Everyone else could live without him.

But he smiled at Eren, his eyes soft and his expression schooled, for he knew how Eren would react to such dark, self-pitying thoughts.

He exited the back room, shoving his other hand deep into his pocket after he tossed the cape away. He nodded to Ymir and Historia.

"See you guys later," he said, smiling genially at them.

"Bye, Armin," Historia said, never turning her face to him. She was already back in her normal clothes, her tangled blond hair waving around her cheeks, a brilliant gold mess. Armin shook his head in disbelief. She must have been cursed to be as beautiful on the outside as she was ugly on the inside.

He left to antique store, walking unsteadily into the alley, and when he got out into the street, he let out the breath he'd been holding. His heart was thudding viciously against his ribs, and he slumped as he pressed his back to the brick wall, sweat building on his brow. He slipped the dagger from the pocket of his sweatshirt and held it up to the shimmering morning light.

"Well, well, well," Eren drawled into Armin's neck, words enough to make him shudder. "You little thief."

"I'll put it back after I make sure of something," Armin sighed, pushing off the wall and striding forward. "Judge me all you want, okay, but I took it for a good reason."

"You know," Eren said smoothly, keeping up with him with ease. Armin realized he was gliding, his feet not really there at all. "Lots of people think they have a good reason for doing bad things. That still makes it bad."

"I said I'm going to give it back," Armin exhaled, squinting at the detailing of the ivory hilt. "Chill, Eren. I've done loads of illegal things before, and I doubt Historia will care much. She knows how terrible I am."

Eren cut in front of him, his eyes dark and furious. "You're not terrible," he snapped. "Did she tell you that? Don't listen to her. Don't listen to anything she says, ever."

Armin stood in shock, holding the dagger gingerly in his fingers. He tapped the blade anxiously.

"You don't like her," he said, squinting at Eren's blanching face. "Why?"

"She's creepy!"

"Says the ghost," Armin scoffed, turning from him and marching down the street. He twirled the dagger between his fingers, biting his lip. He didn't know what to do.

"Do you really trust her?" Eren gasped, trailing behind him. "Armin. Armin! Come on, she's a liar and you don't know anything about her."

"I know that we're a lot alike," he replied, thumbing the careful indentations surrounding the eyelid of the first ivory eye. There was a dark stain in the crevice.

"You're nothing like her."

Armin stopped, and he looked into Eren's eyes.

"I'm exactly like her," he said firmly. "You don't want to admit it because you don't like her and you love me, well, fine. That's your business. But stop trying to deny that I am awful, because I know I am, and you know it too."

Eren's face flickered, and blood smeared his cheek. There were tears in his gauzy eyes, but he looked utterly vacant.

"Why don't you ever listen to me?" Eren whispered.

"Because you don't tell me anything," Armin replied curtly. He started forward once more, leaving Eren in the dust.

"Armin…" He sounded distant. Armin's stomach clenched, and he heard Eren's voice, but it was fractured and uneven, the muffled sound of someone speaking under water.

"You said you'd explain," Armin muttered. "That's what you told me, and I believed you. But I get it. You'll never tell me anything I want to know."

"Armin!"

"Hey," he said, pausing midstep. He glanced back at Eren, and he waved the dagger senselessly at him. "Do you know why this has blood on it?"

Eren's entire being seemed to cough, a lapse in existence on his part, and when he fluttered back again he was under a strobe light. "What?" he whispered.

"There's blood on the hilt. Whoever cleaned it up missed a bit. Do you know anything about it?"

"Why would I know?" Eren croaked. "I  _drowned_!"

Armin stared at him.

He smiled bitterly.

"I thought you didn't remember how you died, Eren," he whispered.

Eren's mouth fell open. And in his faded, filmy eyes, Armin saw his horror, his terror, his pain. He'd felt the fall, seen it through Eren's eyes, and he knew. He'd known for a while that Eren had been lying. But now it was out in the open.

Eren looked away.

Without warning, he disappeared.

Armin exhaled sharply, the knife falling to his side. He glowered at the empty space. This was his punishment, he supposed, for being so damn rotten.

He stuffed the knife back into his pocket, and he hoped no one had seen him talking to himself. He walked slowly, his head bowed, and he recalled that he needed to figure out some information to exchange with Erwin Smith. This was a problem.

His phone rang, and he sighed. He felt guilty for saying such awful things to Eren, but at the same time he was genuinely furious that no one seemed to want to clue him in on what they knew. Why had Eren hid the truth from him? Armin had assumed how he'd died, of course, but the fact that Eren had intentionally left Armin in the dark about it was too much to handle.

"Hello?" He answered his phone after three rings, his sneakers scraping against the sidewalk and the early spring breeze toying with his ponytail.

" _Where are you_?" Mikasa asked him sharply.

"Uh." He looked up at a street sign. "Uh. Close to the police station. I just went for a walk."

" _ **When**_?"

"I don't know, a few hours ago?"

" _Armin, you should have woken me up_!"

"It was like, six in the morning, Mikasa!"

" _Well, I don't care_ ," she huffed. " _You should have left a note. You should have said something, anything_!"

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "Honestly, I didn't think it'd be a big deal." A lie.

" _Like hell. What did you even do on a walk that long_?" She sounded breathless and shaky. She'd been truly terrified when she'd realized he'd gone. He felt guiltier and guiltier by the passing minute. " _Tell me you didn't go into the woods_."

"No," he sighed. He paused as he passed the police station. He thought about Annie, about how she knew things, about how she was working against the police more than she was working for it. What did she gain from that? "I just walked around town to clear my head. Met up with Ymir and Historia."

" _Are you lying_?"

He groaned. Of course when he was telling the truth it didn't matter. He'd made himself into a person who could not be trusted.

"I am not lying," he said firmly. "I'm almost home, anyway. Do you need me to pick anything up?"

" _No. I just wanted to make sure you were okay_." She sounded quiet and distant and sad. He wished he could say it wasn't his fault, but he knew better. " _Please leave a note next time_."

"Okay. I'm sorry."

" _It's okay, Armin_."

"I'll see you soon."

" _Right_."

She hung up first.

The extraordinary thing about caring about people was the fact weighing on the brain every single solitary moment that you're destined to hurt them at some point, somehow, some way, without warning, without even really meaning to.

Armin was so sick of hurting the people he loved. But he didn't know how to stop.

When he arrived home, he arrived to a camera stuck in his face.

"I caught it on film!" Jean cried.

Oh. Great. Jean had filmed the ghost. Now they were fucked.

"Um…" Armin had hardly been through the doorway yet. "Hello. Good morning to you too. I had a great morning, thank you for asking."

"I caught the ghost on camera, okay, celebrate with me!" Jean grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him into the kitchen. Mikasa was at the table, sipping some orange juice, and she glanced up at them. She looked a little relieved to see him.

"Armin," she exhaled. "Good morning."

"Morning," he gasped. He shot a glare at Jean. "See? She has manners."

"Fuck manners, I caught a ghost!"

"Oh please," Mikasa murmured. Armin smiled at her.

"But I did!" Jean pulled out a chair, hooking up his camcorder quickly to his laptop. Armin sat down beside him, replaying his conversation with Eren over and over in his head. They kept snapping at each other. This was not good. Armin felt that there was a great rift between them, and it was more than just the veil between life and death. The thought of loosing Eren made it difficult to breathe, and he covered his mouth with his fist, biting his knuckles to keep himself from screaming.

"Okay, look at this," Jean said, turning his computer screen to them. Armin was very tired, but he looked anyway. He saw the hallway, and Armin noted that the camera was probably positioned on the table in the living room, angled particularly so it captured the entirety of the hall. Armin saw his own door, and Mikasa's. Jean pressed play.

They had to wait a few seconds to see what Jean was talking about. There was a soft sound, breath rattling amongst the quietude of nightfall, and in the shadows something emerged from Mikasa's closed door. It was nothing concrete, just a hazy shadow in the dark, a flicker of what could be there, what might be there, just a flickering smudge on the camera lens, nothing more, nothing less, and yet it was breathing heavily, and it shook and shook and shook for a solid minute, two minutes, three.

And then, without warning, it collapsed and dispersed like a puff of smoke, a distant breath of a cry muffled by layers of sheetrock and wood and paint.

Jean paused it. He glanced at them.

"You saw it, right?" he asked breathlessly.

Armin bowed his head. He thought of Eren. He thought of the knife in his pocket. He thought of Kenny Ackerman, and how monstrous he was. He nodded slowly. Mikasa sat quietly, staring at the screen, and she took a deep breath. Her brow rose.

"Yeah," she admitted, leaning back. "That was weird."

"Did you not hear the scream at the end?" Jean asked her. "Mikasa, that's gotta be Levi!"

She glared at him, her eyelids sliding heavily over her grayish eyes, and she pushed his computer back so it faced only him. "It was a shadow and some weird noise, Jean. Not a full-bodied apparition. It was practically nothing."

"You're avoiding talking about it, but you know it's him!" Jean stood up. "Armin, tell her!"

Armin sat, his mouth falling open, for he was not sure what to do or say. On one hand, Jean was absolutely right. On the other, Mikasa probably had her reasons for denying the existence of Levi's ghost. Perhaps she hadn't seen him since she was a child. That easily explained her skepticism. The point was, they were both in the right. Armin was torn.

"It could be anything," he said cautiously without looking at either of his friends, "anyone. We should do some more investigating. Bring Hange back here to talk more about the types of hauntings that can happen. None of us are really in our element here…"

Jean's eyes lit up. "Great idea," he said, smirking broadly. Mikasa was still glowering at him. "We can have a séance!"

"You're kidding," Mikasa said flatly.

"We need to know what's going on in this house," Jean said, glancing at her. He smiled weakly, but she merely stared at him, her gaze conveying her irritation. "Please? It can't do any harm."

"Did you miss the horror genre in film class, or something?" she asked vacantly. "Because that's literally the worst thing you could say right now."

"Is that a yes?"

She shook her head furiously, staring down at her hands. Her eyes flashed up at Jean, and there was something there beneath the surface of her carefully constructed apathy. A spark of curiosity, maybe. A flame that ignited sharply, illuminating the cuts and bruises that framed her beautiful face.

She stood, pushing her chair in and whirling away.

"Fine," she said. "Do what you want. But leave me out of it."

"You're the best, holy shit!" Jean swatted Armin's back. "Call Hange and tell her. Them. Fuck, them. You know what I mean."

"Um, okay." Armin pulled his phone out hesitantly. "You're not the least bit worried about Mikasa?"

"At this point, I'm ninety percent worry for both of you and ten percent stone cold apathy. Call them." When Armin stared at him expectantly, he blinked rapidly, and frowned. "Uh, please."

"That's right," Armin told him, nodding in approval.

He ended up calling Hange and setting the phone on the table so it was on speaker. Jean paced the kitchen anxiously, and Armin sat, wondering what they'd say about this idea. They were unusually enthusiastic about most things.

" _Yo_ ," Hange whistled through the phone. " _Armin! What's up_?"

"Hi, Hange." He leaned against the table, exhausted and unable to really fight Jean's influence. "So some spooky stuff's been happening, and we were wondering—"

"Is it cool if we have a séance?" Jean cut in impatiently. "I mean, we need some solid proof that there's a ghost here, right? It'd be a good way to make sure."

 _It's really a terrible way_ , Armin thought. Though he said nothing. Of course he said nothing.

" _Um… a séance_ …?" Hange sounded a little skeptical. " _Well, I wouldn't rule it out, but you really need to be careful with that stuff. You might just upset the spirit more than you already have— which, by the way, is a really bad idea. If you want to contact your ghost, maybe try to be friendly. Don't be territorial, because ghosts are really, really territorial, and that conflict will just fuck you over. Don't play with forces you don't understand_."

"So…" Jean glanced up at the ceiling, wearing a vacant frown. "Is that a no?"

" _It's a maybe. There is a right and wrong way to go about this. Don't do anything without me there, and maybe call a rabbi_."

"A rabbi?" Jean scoffed. "For real? Why not just call a priest so we get the whole Exorcist bullshit up in here?"

" _Well, first of all_ ," Hange said in a very dull voice, " _Levi was Jewish. Literally everyone who has ever lived in that apartment was Jewish. Hell, even Mikasa's Jewish, if memory serves. Second of all, no exorcisms. That's violent and cruel to do to a ghost. A demon, okay, but not a ghost. That's literally the last resort, and that's only if things get so bad that you literally cannot live with the ghost around any longer. Understand_?"

"Oh." Jean looked astonished. "Okay. Good to know."

" _Awesome. So I'm a little busy right now with work, but I can stop by tomorrow if the haunting's really that bad. Okay? Don't do anything silly now_!" Hange laughed, and Jean and Armin laughed too before they hung up. Armin's laugh was nervous. Purely because Jean, as lazy as he was, was determined. That was not a good thing at all.

"Okay…" Armin drew out the word softly, snatching his phone and taking quick, tentative steps back. "So… pizza tonight?"

"Whoa," Jean said flatly, his eyes narrowing. "You're actually suggesting food? As in, to eat? As in, you are going to consume something of vague nutritional value?"

"Bye." Armin whirled away from him and marched out of the room.

He found himself back in his room, standing with his back pressed against his door and his eyes gravitating toward the painting that separated his room from Mikasa's. It was such an eerie thing to look at, but what was beneath it was so much eerier. Isaac. Bound by his father and prepared to be sacrificed to their god. Armin had always found religion endlessly fascinating. He had none, though that could be attributed to his upbringing. His grandfather had raised him, and his grandfather had been a stone cold atheist. Armin had learned the periodic table as some children might learn daily prayers. Sometimes he envied them. It seemed like a nice thing, to have faith.

He half expected Eren to show up and inquire why he looked so sad.

But Eren was not there.

Eren. Levi. Erwin Smith. Kenny Ackerman. Historia. Mikasa. Rod Reiss. There was a connection, right? There had to be a connection.

S H E D.

Shed.

 _What's in the shed, Mikasa?_  Armin thought nervously.

He remembered the fishhooks that had hung from his wall the very first night he'd slept in this room. How one had appeared in that shed in the woods, and Armin could not explain why or how. It had just happened. Had it been Eren who had stolen the fishhook? Or Levi?

And why there of all places?

Armin's eyes moved anxiously to his open closet door. So many books. So many boxes.

He started forward slowly, and then bolted across the room, jumping over discarded books and reached into the closet, throwing his arms around the first box he saw and tipping the pile so they collapsed onto the floor, spilling books and… posters… and… clothes…

Armin stumbled back, staring at the mess he'd made.

He knelt and picked up a baggy plaid shirt. He set it aside. Steel toed combat boots. He set them aside. Fingerless leather racing gloves. He set them aside. A pair of oil stained overalls. Ripped jeans. Numerous plain or otherwise graphic tees with bands like Nirvana and Radiohead and Beastie Boys and Neutral Milk Hotel declared on their front. The words were faded and most of them were stained from what Armin imagined was hours and hours of working as a mechanic.

He set the clothes aside gingerly, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He felt as though he'd disturbed a grave.

The boxes were not Kenny's. They were Levi's.

He found a backpack buried under a matchbox full of ripped movie tickets, a dusty, scratched up plastic case holding three vinyl records (though Armin did not see a record player anywhere), and a folder full of reports. He noted a few spelling and grammar mistakes glancing over one, and he quickly reminded himself that Erwin had said Levi had been dyslexic. He pulled the backpack from the box carefully, and he weighed it against his knee. It was surprisingly heavy.

As he unzipped it, he began to taste the musk of the untouched artifacts of a long deceased boy. They were dusty and filmy, and every move he made had to be calculated, for there was no difference between him at this moment and some great archaeologist excavating the remains of an ancient tomb.

Inside the backpack was, amongst other things, a flashlight, a compass, a map, a notebook, a crumpled note with a poem on it, and an excessive amount of cassette tapes.

Armin flipped through them.  _Hange's Sick Beats, Erwin's Mix, isabel! :), Mix Tape, Happy Mix for Mr. Grumpy, For Mikasa_ — oh. Huh. Weird.

For Mikasa?

Armin had already begun playing Erwin's Mix.

He laughed into his hand when Fight For Your Right by Beastie Boys thudded throughout the room. It was senseless noise, words shouting at him that just did not make it through his clouded head. He enjoyed it immensely as he picked up the poem.

_Ah, had I the wings now,_

_Wings the ounting condor to clar th clouds,_

_Clear he hevy clouds and soar o the day-dying sun,_

_To the sun, beyond these streets,_

_To the sun, beyond this lash of the winter rains…_

_But the day lags, binding e:_

_The dy lags and my pent-up heart beats at its bars,_

_At its prison-bars beats, captive and dark._

_Ah, had I the fire no, had I the joy now, had I the wings now_

_To clear the clouds of my rain-swept soul,_

_And soar in the heavens, sun-bathed._

Armin read over the palm twice. He pulled the notebook from the pile where he'd discarded the contents of the backpack, and he scrawled down the missing letters, making haste of it. After that morning's revelation about Mikasa's texts, this was easy.

Meet at maw.

Oh. Damn.

The tape began to skip. The ribbon skidded.  _Skiff, skiff, skiff._  Fight for your. Fight for. Fight. Fight. Fight.

Fight—!

A loud crash coughed through the ancient lungs of the walkman, the sound of a door slamming. The static that fizzled through the air was merely the soft excess noise that some old microphone had picked up.

" _Get out_ ," said a coarse, frigidly monotone voice.

The sound of boots across a wooden floor. Senseless noise. A moment of pure silence. And then another crash, a bang of something smashing against the floor. A body?

" _Watch your fucking mouth_ ," Kenny's familiar voice snapped.

A sharp inhaling of breath, the crackle of noise from the microphone,  _skiff, skiff, skiff_ , and the ribbon kept spinning.

" _What_ ," coughed the coarse voice, which Armin could only assume to be Levi, " _do you want_?"

" _Your music is too loud_."

" _Fine. I'll turn it down. Leave_."

" _I said watch your fucking mouth_." There was a meaty smack of something fleshy being hit rather hard, and Armin jumped. " _You dumbass kid, when the hell are you going to learn some respect_?"

Levi exhaled shakily.

Noise. Senseless noise.

Soft shifting. Clothing settling, maybe. Had he sat up? Had he been on the ground at all? Armin could not breathe.

" _Sorry_ ," he said quietly. " _I won't play it anymore_."

" _That's right. Damn, look at that_!" There was a small pause. " _Blood already. You're like a girl, you're so damn fragile. Clean up before dinner_."

" _Okay_."

The sound of boots scuffing against wood. Sharp inhales, heavy exhales. Sniffling.

" _I'm not eating dinner_ ," he said thickly. The stepping sounds ceased, the scuffing squeaking to a halt.

" _What was that_?"

" _I'm not going to eat anything you cook. It's gross_."

" _Wow. Are you five? No, you a grown fucking man, and you'll eat whatever the fuck I serve you, or you can fend for yourself_."

" _Fine by me_."

" _You're really asking for an ass whooping, kid_."

" _I thought_ ," Levi said in a cold, sardonic tone, " _I was a grown fucking man_."

" _Okay, smartass. Get up. If you're half what you mouth off, you'll be able to beat me. What's that face for? Scared_?" A gasp, a  _thwump_  of impact where a fist or a knee had hit something soft, Levi's abdomen, maybe, by the quiet sound of his strangled breaths. " _I thought you were some tough shit! Bare knuckled boxing champ_?" A whack, a crash, another gasp, this one wetter than the last, and a cough following it. " _Undefeated street racer, the best in all of Trost and Shiganshina. Huh? Huh?_ _ **Ha**_!" An undeniable  _crunch_.

Armin hid his face in his hands. He was shaking.

" _Remember_ ," Kenny spat, " _that you are nothing_."

More sounds. More senseless noise, senseless smack, smack, smack, crunch, smack, smack, crash, gasp, crash, gasp, moan, plea, please, stop, stop… stop…

" _Stop_ …"

There'd been silence for a few minutes. A whole track of silence between where the beating had stopped and where Levi's broken voice had began.

The tape went on and on and on and on.

 _Skiff, skiff, skiff_.

It ended.

Armin blinked rapidly. He unclenched his hands, letting the crumpled poem fall to the floor. He had to take a few deep breaths.

He popped the tape out and swapped it hastily with another, fumbling anxiously and snapping the walkman shut.

He squeezed his eyes shut as the sound began again.  _Skiff, skiff, skiff_. A ribbon twirling. Senseless noise. And then, little breaths. Thumping— the sound of a finger tapping a microphone.

" _What did I say about touching my stuff_?" It was Levi's voice.

" _Uh_ …" A tiny, girlish voice. Armin's eyes widened. " _Not to_?"

" _That's right. And what are you doing_?"

"…  _Touching your stuff_?"

" _This must be why Kenny says you're the brains of the family_."

" _Sorry_."

" _Whatever_."

Armin's heart rate slowed to normal, and he relaxed. The sound of Mikasa's tiny voice was a comfort.

" _Do you make music_?" Mikasa asked suddenly.

" _No_."

" _Then why do you have a microphone_?"

" _Why do you ask so many questions? Stupid_."

" _I'm not stupid_ ," she snapped.

" _Then stop acting like it_."

Little feet smacked very loudly against the wooden floor, stomping angrily. " _I want to go outside_ ," she declared.

" _I'm not stopping you_."

" _I can't go by myself. I'm not really allowed, you know, I'm eight_."

" _You can count too? You really are the brains of the family_."

" _Levi_!" It was an exasperated whine of a child who wasn't getting her way.

Armin buried his face in his hands. This was almost worse. How was he supposed to listen to Mikasa be happy and childish and carefree when everything in her life was crumbling and everyone she loved was dissipating?

" _Read a book_."

" _What are you even doing_?" The sound of mattress springs squeaking. " _What's… Cultowallis_?"

Armin snorted. Senseless noise, whispery, senseless noise.

" _It's just a book_."

" _Well, you told me to read one. I want to read that one_."

" _You can't even read the title_."

" _It was upside-down!_   _Can we please go_?" she sighed. " _Please? I don't want to be here when Uncle Kenny gets back._ "

" _If it was that easy to avoid him, I'd be living on my own, taking college classes right now_."

" _Please_?"

" _You're the reason I'm never having kids_."

A soft thump. " _Get up_." Another soft thump. " _Get up_." Thump. Thump. Thump. " _Let's do something_!"

" _Let's not_."

" _This_ —" Thump. " _Is why_ —" Thump. " _Mom says_ —" Thump. " _You're sad and_ _ **antisocial**_."

" _You live in the middle of nowhere, how would she know if I'm social or not_?"

" _Because you're sad and antisocial_?"

She let out a little shriek, and there was a soft crash as her body thudded against the floor. Armin made the assumption that Levi had pushed her off the bed.

"…  _Hey, did you press the record button_?"

The ribbon spun rapidly as the track changed. Armin almost turned off the cassette player.

Deep, shallow breaths.

" _Okay_ …" Levi sounded sick, his voice breathy and thin. " _Okay… um… ugh. Reminder… reminder… reminder. You're probably waking up right now feeling like… like a blank slate… right? Just… completely confused. Stunned. Check your arms. Are there marks? Red marks. Carved into your skin_."

Armin sat, wide eyed. Out of paranoia, he slid the fat sleeves of his red sweatshirt up to check his arms. Nothing. He exhaled in relief.

" _If they're not there, good. Oh. Wait. Right. Your name is Levi. I know what you're thinking. "How the fuck did I forget my own name?" Well it happens a lot. It's been happening more frequently. I feel like I'm… not even a real person anymore. Like I've been wiped too many times, or something. I don't really know how to act, so I avoid it. You'll get it when you have to start interacting with people. You'll look at someone, someone who knows you intimately, and you'll just blank. Like, who's that guy? Why is that girl smiling at me? Why is there a total nut following me around everywhere asking me weird ass questions? That's what you have to look forward to_."

"What the hell?" Armin murmured, leaning forward to listen better as Levi's voice got softer and softer.

" _What else… fuck. There's so much, and I don't… have the time… I mean, you obviously will get some memory back, it's more or less temporary but… by the time you remember stuff, you might as well kiss it all goodbye again_." He sighed. " _So here's what happened. Your dad is insane. Like, I don't know what the correct terminology would be, what he'd be diagnosed with if he actually got help, but he's really bad. Ever since you were a kid he's done really terrible things to you, but you don't remember because… well, this. I'm not sure what it is. He puts it in our food. Yeah. Avoid eating anything he cooks. Um_ …" His voice was slurring. " _Fuck… um… oh, Mikasa. Mikasa is your cousin. Please, please tell me she's in the room with you. Make sure she's there. She's out cold right now, I… made her puke up what she ate, but it still knocked her out. Just… look… fuck…_ " Something fell over, and Levi swore again, this time angrily. " _Do_ _ **not**_ _let him get to her. Okay? Don't let him hurt her_."

Armin sat in shock as the tape ended, and the ribbon rolled halted. He stared vacantly ahead of him. He felt empty and confused.

He supposed that's exactly what Levi had been warning himself of.

The shock subsided. Or, maybe it didn't.

Armin didn't know.

A familiar sensation had come over him.

Like.

Drifting?

Only not in an icy pool, where the water glowed greenish in the moonlight.

He was drifting through the air, and plummeting, sinking through concrete and into hard soil. The air was thick, and the taste of the earth clung to his every breath.

He stood up, taking the cassette player with him, and he plugged a pair of headphones in as he sat down on his bed. His thoughts were failing him, his thoughts were failing, and in a daze he let himself lie down.

It was a familiar sensation. He realized too late what it was.

A gaunt faced man stood at the foot of his bed.

Armin squeezed his eyes shut.

He listened to the tape, and he listened, listened, listened. The sun was sinking into the horizon. Time was passing rapidly.

Fast forward.

Play.

"Armin, do you want me to get the pizza now?"

"No."

"Are you okay, man?"

"Yes."

"What happened in here, holy shit…? It's like a tornado ran through here."

"I'm so tired. I'm going to take a nap. Don't bother me."

"Uh, wow. Okay…"

Pause.

Instead of drifting across the glassy green surface of a shimmering ice pool, Armin found himself weighed down by the clamps of fetters and staring into darkness, tasting the earthy air and panicking because he could not remember how he'd gotten there.

Play.

"How long are you going to stand there?" he whispered.

He'd been listening to tapes for hours and hours, but he couldn't recall what exactly he'd heard.

The man stood at the foot of Armin's bed.

Armin's eyes drooped.

"Did you… want me to find these tapes…?" Armin exhaled. "Why?"

Blood gleamed on the surface of Levi's skin.

He gripped the footboard of Armin's bed.

And without warning, he began to rattle it.

Armin's entire existence seemed to fall apart in that moment, and in his shock, in the rattling, trembling, mesmerizing fear, he fell into a rocky, cavernous slumber.

 _Skiff, skiff, skiff_.

His mind was whirling like a ribbon on a spindle, and he was rotating with it, a symphony vibrating in his chest every time he took a breath. The world was unusual. He was having difficulty differentiating between reality and reverie. Time was manipulating him, tricking him, playing and reversing and pausing, a track on repeat.

Rewind. Stop.

Cello bows screeched in Armin's head.

So. You want to know the truth?

He opened his eyes. He was shackled to a chair, the air stale and thick, the musty scent of dirt clogging his nose. He felt the urge to wriggle, but he didn't. His mind was in a fog.  _Tabula rasa_  again.

So. You think you want to know the truth?

A knife bit at bare skin, and his thoughts exploded, all of them at once, like the universe bursting into existence.

Rewind.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So, here we are. First of all, please take note of the warnings I tagged starting this chapter. Specifically I want people to be aware of the child abuse, rape implications (i'm not sure how triggering this could be, considering the content, but to be on the safe side i'm warning readers before hand), and suicide. This is a really heavy chapter. It's probably the most important chapter in the story. There's just a lot of stuff going on at once, and... well, you'll see.
> 
> You can hit me up [here](http://olivesilverlock.co.vu/ask) if you have any questions about this chapter and the ending. Or, you know, just to yell at me. That's fine.

**imagined penance for imagined sins**

Rewind.

He'd awoken in a chair, feeling groggy and drunk, every muscle in his body stiff and achy. It was a struggle to think or breathe, so he sat very still, and attempted to wait out the cotton that muffled sounds and thoughts and sense. He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. Something in him was screaming, and he knew he should have listened to it, he knew it was right, but he couldn't move. He was exhausted. Numb.

_Bad trip_ , he told himself.  _Just a bad trip_.

He'd budged his foot, and his eyes had snapped open at the startling realization that his ankles were bound.

The walls were bare and made of dirt, illuminated only by a handful of candles sitting on the floor by his feet. He stared, his vision swimming, his eyelashes sticking heavily together and smears clotting his vision, leaving everything to be bleary and dull. He blinked rapidly to remedy this.

_Where the fuck…?_  He tried to remember how he'd gotten here, but he couldn't.

His mind was cloudy. But he felt like that wasn't really a new occurrence.

The air was cold— genuinely frigid, and when he exhaled, a mist blew back at him. He swayed dizzily in his seat. He flexed his fingers, testing the limits of his mobility Ropes chafed his wrists. Bit his ankles. He was being detained. He knew it. Somehow, he was not surprised. He was mostly concerned with his bare feet against the cool dirt, and how unsanitary this was.

He could not force his mind back into a state of lucidity. He didn't think it was possible for him. He didn't think he'd ever be able to think straight again. He felt so fucked over. So exhausted. He wanted to sleep, but he was scared, and the air was so icy against his bare skin.

His head lolled.

How stoned was he?

A nagging voice in his head tried to remind him of something. Something about sobriety.

This didn't feel like getting stoned. Yeah, he was drugged up on something, but there was no high, there was no escape, just a rock weighing him to the hard, cold earth. He wanted to scream but he couldn't move his lips.

He was terrified, and he had nothing to show of it. Typical.

Pain spiked through him, licking at his forearm, and he squirmed in discomfort, exhaling shakily. There were other people here. In this overwhelmingly small space, he could sense others. Someone was leaning over him, a shadow yawning and devouring him, and another figure staying away, keeping its distance. He blinked rapidly through the pain, and he gritted his teeth. Whatever he was on, it was wearing off.

"Where…?" he exhaled, blinking as his wrist was untied. "What…?"

There was a girl.

Pause.

Now. Think. Do you know this girl?

Really look at her.

Play.

She was small, agonizingly small, with flaxen hair that sat in a limp bundle around her round face. Her large blue eyes were glistening in the faint flicker of candlelight, and her lips parted as she stared at him. It was hard to distinguish her from a kindergartener on the street. She'd been wearing, if memory served, a pale nightgown and slippers. She was a child. Shaky and confused.

Now.

Do you know this girl?

Really look at her.

He'd sat, dazed and submissive, as the girl took his hand. There was a muffled voice playing, a thrumming bass pounding into his head, but he genuinely could not comprehend a word of it. Everything seemed to be dulled excessively. He felt as though someone had put a barrier between him and the world around him.

She stuck her lips to the long, gushing gash that had grown along his arm, stinging madly in spite of how undeniably numb he was. He watched her. Even his horror was dull.

When the girl drew back, her entire mouth was smeared bright red, her face splashed yellowish and carved out by shadow as she swayed and swallowed hard. Tears gleamed in her eye. He wanted to scream.

Now. Do you really want to know how this ends?

Or can you just use that fucking brain of yours for once, and figure it out?

She screamed, clapping her hands over her eyes. And he could not understand why.

He was so numb.

So low, so low, so low.

He was practically already in the ground.

The knife had slashed him in a way that was agonizing, but he realized, he realized, he realized—

He was bleeding out into the hard, cold soil, but not nearly at a fast enough rate.

He was going to die.

It was so slow, so slow, so slow.

Now. You want to know the truth.

So, so, so…

This is what you get for being ignorant.

* * *

Armin's awoke with a strangled, mangled gasp, a sob escaping his lips as he flailed wildly, trying to get a grasp at his bed so he didn't fall off, but to his horror his fingers found the ground, and it was hard and cold and uneven. He blinked into the darkness, panting heavily, and he sat up, feeling around blindly. His thoughts were speeding through his head, bullets crashing and burrowing in his brain, and he saw Historia's face in some obscured dream, kissing his bloody arm and crying when he'd been attacked.

It was overwhelmingly cold, and Armin was just so overwhelmed. He felt along the ground, dimly aware that he was not where he was supposed to be, and he tried to get his breathing back to normal, but he was so scared, and it was so dark, and he did not know how he'd gotten here.

He  _had_  fallen asleep in his room, right?

The ground was hard. And cold. And tough. But after being beaten a bit, it became loose and docile, and he squished dirt between his fingers, breathing heavily and blinking.

Was he outside?

No, the air was stale, and he felt like he was enclosed.

Too spacious to be the crawl space, too small to be outside. He reached out into the darkness, waiting, waiting, waiting, but nothing came to his outstretched fingers, and he didn't know if that was a blessing or a curse.

"Hello…?" In the darkness, his voice was like a tremulous note, a string vibrating against a bow, coiling in the air and letting itself become a monstrously shrill little noise that broke apart in seconds and crumbled under the weight of itself. He could hear his breath. It was heavy, and it was thick, and the air was bitter to inhale, catching in his throat.

"H-hello…?"

His voice echoed softly, reverberating in the darkness and smacking him in the face in defiance of him. He shrunk in his heavy sweatshirt, sweat clinging to his skin in spite of the chill that had him locked in place. He was nervous, terrified, and oddly unsurprised. He felt as though there was cotton stuck inside his ears, as though while he'd been sleeping someone had stuffed large, fluffy balls of stuffing into his brain through his external auditory canal with a ramrod, puncturing his eardrum and letting his brain ooze out through the padding and onto the floor.

He swayed uneasily in place. His bare feet scraped the cool, earthy floor, and he feared standing. He was too disoriented, and if he fell, he could hit his head and be truly done for. He didn't really want to die, did he?

Did he?

It was cold and dark and the silence rung in his ears. He wanted to scream, but he was too exhausted. He wanted to run but he didn't think he'd manage it. So he sat, heaving breaths, and staring into nothing as the cold air dragged its hands against his soft flesh, digging its vile nails into the back of his neck and ripping up hairs until they stood completely on end.

He sat, tears burning his eyes, and he felt like he was already dead.

A jolt ran through him, and he knew. It was like a hands clapping both sides of his head and smashing through his skull, latching onto his brain with nimble fingers. Cold, dark, and silent, the world exploded, and he knew. He felt the presence of someone, but not really, not truly, not corporally, and he screamed as his mind blew backwards.

Rewind.

* * *

Play.

It was dark. It was so dark. He'd been crying for hours, hours, hours— or maybe it had just been minutes. He didn't know. He was scared of the dark, and everyone knew it, especially…

Well, face your fears. That's what his father had spat at him when he'd handcuffed him to a wooden beam. The shackles chafed his little wrists, and he struggled and squirmed, his eyes adjusted to the darkness but his heart still pounding viciously. He felt like something was there with him. He felt like something was waiting in the darkness, watching him. He was going to get gobbled up.

So he cried. He sat in place, tiny and alone, and sobbed. He yanked at his bonds, his skin peeling away, and he sobbed, because he didn't want to be here anymore.

"Papa!"

He yanked.

The shackles jostled and gnawed at his bony wrists, rubbing away, doing away with his tender flesh.

He'd been six years old.

"Papa!"

He kicked and squirmed, blinking in his bleariness, and wishing for someone, anyone, to come save him. He was weak. That was what his father always told him. Only a weak little bastard like him could be scared of the dark. Cry baby. No skill, no will, nothing, nothing, nothing.

He inhaled sharply, and he stretched his fingers out. It was such a small space, but even so, his arms were barely long enough to reach the walls. His fingertips brushed the rough surface of the wooden paneling, and he listened to his fingernails graze the surface. He scratched ceaselessly at the walls, pleading with a god or a ghost or a Good Samaritan to free him from the crawlspace and to tell him it was all going to be okay.

No one came.

After awhile, he stopped calling for his father. He wouldn't answer anyway. He was probably out. He probably had forgotten he'd locked him up in the first place.

Playing pretend got him nowhere. He was stuck. He was trapped. He was alone and forgotten, and he was scared.

After awhile, he gave up screaming, and instead focused on the handcuffs. He had tiny hands. He knew he could get them out somehow. He just had to think.

His father always told him he wasn't smart. That he was just a big fat cry baby.

He'd studied his hand in the dark for a long time. And then, desperately, he grasped it in one hand, thinking fast. He was six. He didn't know how much it would hurt.

Squeezing until it broke was blinding, and the entire world went white as he howled, his little screams flooding the crawlspace and lingering, echoing. For years and years and years.

He'd yanked his hand from the cuffs and unwound himself from the beam, but he was shaking and sobbing and blinking in the wake of the throbbing pain that had attacked his twitching hand and his aching arm. The darkness was familiar now. He could see fine, though his tears had made everything strange and fuzzy, and he moaned, cupping his injured hand and listening to his breath rattle in time with the metal cuffs.

Eventually he pushed himself up, wobbly knees forcing him to stumble and collide into the wall he'd scratched at, and he gasped and squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to move again, but he tripped over a bag that had been left discarded, like boxes of holiday decorations, and he groaned as a ball rolled from the bag, dribbling against the floor. He stared at it, his cheek pressing into the dust and the grime, and he nudged it half heartedly with his uninjured hand.

Are you afraid of the dark?

You probably should be.

If you're wondering, yes. He found a way out. The crawlspace leads into the garage. You know that already.

The point is, you've been scared shitless over things you don't understand, when the truth is what you're  _really_  afraid of is the fact that you  _don't_  understand.

You think it's scary not knowing?

You have no fucking clue.

Stand up.

Move.

* * *

He was on his feet. The ground was cold and unforgiving, and he wished desperately that he'd worn shoes, but he supposed it couldn't be helped. He coughed, holding his head and trying to get a grasp on the mess he was in. But it was difficult. His mind was in shambles and his heart was breaking apart. What was he supposed to do? He didn't know where he was, or how he'd gotten there.

Though, he could probably take an educated guess.

His eyes adjusted gradually to the darkness until finally he began to see shafts of light pooling through the ceiling and he blinked wildly. He let his feet scrape the bumpy, earthen floor, turning his soles black as he stumbled into a ladder, his hands clapping against the boards and a sigh of elated relief passing from his lips.

_I'm in the shed_ , he thought, testing his weight against the lowest rung of the ladder.  _I'm here, and I don't know why. But Mikasa knows something about it. Shed. She spelled it out using Levi's cipher_.

He climbed as quickly as he could in the darkness, and he pushed a cardboard covering out of the way, heaving himself up and rolling onto the cool, dusty wood. He inhaled the taste of dust and must and dead leaves, and he wanted to cry from relief. He had a clenched up feeling in the pit of his stomach from anxiety, from the paranoia and nervousness of being alone in the dark in an enclosed space with a pit of darkness below.

He was not alone though.

Yes, he knew it.

It made it all the worse.

He sat for a moment on the shed floor, panting heavily and squinting at his surroundings. A shovel, a few fishing rods, a tackle box, hooks in jars, a dirty, discarded racing glove... Armin stared at it. It was peeking out from behind the shovel. He crawled uncertainly toward it, biting his lip in the darkness and inhaling sharply. He braved himself, and reached between the shovel and tackle box, a shudder jolting through him as his fingertips caught in a sticky, spindly web, and he snatched the glove before skittering back. He clutched it in his hand, shaking his head furiously and holding the glove up to the minute light provided by the one grimy window of the shed.

It certainly looked familiar. Could it be Mikasa's?

He pocketed it. Just in case.

The door of the shed screeched as he pushed it open, and the sound made his eyes water. He shivered, wincing as his bare feet touched the sharp, leaf-covered ground, twigs jutting against his toes as he wriggled them. The wind kissed his cheeks, and the scent of rain hung in the air, heavy and acidic as it lashed at his nostrils.

He listened to twigs snap underfoot, leaves and dirt sticking between his toes, and he stared into the great twisting canopy of trees that swung and arched above and around him, whispering words and worries with every gust of wind that lashed at his back. He was lost. He knew it. It was dark, and he was lost, and he was terrified.

"Eren…?" he called into the creaky, croaky, cricket-infested wilderness. He needed Eren's ghostly presence now more than ever before. He hunched over, looking over his shoulder but seeing nothing but only a few inches around him clearly. The rest was all silhouettes and dark blots.

"Eren…"

As Armin wandered, he stepped on a number of things that made him cry out in pain and alarm, but he kept going out of pure terror. He was lost in the woods at night and he had no idea how he'd gotten there. He had to keep moving. Even in spite of his burning lungs and constricting chest. He was exhausted and aching and fearing for his life, but even so he kept moving, breathless and determined. He had to get home. There had to be a way home.

He was trying to remember how he'd gotten here, but there was nothing. His head was a big empty jar, and the more he tried to recall the events leading up to this terror, the more his head filled up with globs of cotton. He held onto trees as he moved, throwing hasty glances over his shoulder. He had to remember.

He had to remember.

His head ached, and that familiar feeling of being suppressed came over him again.

Rewind.

* * *

Play.

His head ached, and that was a foreign feeling. His entire body was aching, and he didn't understand it. He sunk into his bed, burying his face into his pillow, and he wished the aching would stop. There was a foul scent clinging to the air, and he realized, his eyes peeling open, that it was him. He let himself lie in his bed, bundled in a blanket, for a little while longer. It hurt even to look at things, his retinas burning at the sight of light, and he groaned.

He sat up. His blanket slid away, and he realized he was naked.

Did he sleep naked?

He thought that was odd.

He didn't like the way he smelled. It was like… sweat and gasoline and something else, an outside smell mingling with a salty staleness. There were bruises. Everywhere.

There was a strange, angry red mark, like a carving on his forearm. It looked like a hastily drawn eye.

He lurched to his feet. What day was it?

He wobbled. He fell onto one knee, gasping and holding his head. What… what month was it? What  _year_? Where was he? Why was he naked? Why did everything hurt? Why were there bruises and scratches all over him? There was dirt clinging to his legs and feet. He was panicking. Why was he panicking? Why couldn't he remember?

Who was he? What was his name?

He grabbed his head, clutching it tightly, and staring at the panels of wood that constructed the floor, tears burning his eyes. He was scared. He didn't know what was happening. His body hurt really badly. He didn't understand it. He touched a yellowish, fading bruise on the inside of his thigh, and he wondered how on earth that could have happened.

He spotted a dresser, and ran to it until he half crashed into it, throwing open drawer after drawer until he found underwear. He felt a little relieved. He then began to sift through the clothing. He wondered if any of it would fit him. Was this his room? He looked around.

The bed was a decent enough size, but it also took up a lot of space. There was a stereo on the desk in the corner, very large and bulky, and beside it was a stack of tapes, a microphone, and a headset. A notebook sat unopened, a pen and pencil set evenly beside it, a lamp hanging over it, and a bent paperback with numerous post-it notes resting beside it. There were posters, but he was bleary eyed and he didn't understand them. There was a closet, and on its door were several photographs of various cars and motorcycles. He didn't get it.

On his dresser there were things set in a very particular way. He opened a box and found it filled with some kind of herb, and when he sniffed it he immediately clapped the box shut and put it back. There was a matchbox filled with little slips of paper with dates and times and titles stamped on them. Movie tickets. He knew that, at least. He found a lighter, which he fiddled with for a minute before remembered that he was trying to remember stuff, so he put that back too. There was a picture. He picked it up.

There was a boy. A dark haired boy with tired, empty eyes, hair that seemed a little too long, and a resigned expression. He was standing beside a woman with long black hair and a bright smile, and he held a little girl who seemed to be focused on something other than the camera. She was a toddler, her hair similar to the boy's and the woman's, only she was wearing a floral headband. She was touching his face with her tiny fist.

He didn't know who these people were.

So he put the photo back. He stood, feeling dazed and unsure, and he wondered frantically if this was his family. He tugged a pair of jeans from the drawer, tossing it onto the bed. Then he found a baggy red shirt. That would probably suffice, right? He hoped it would fit him.

He stared down at his hands, and he saw they were filthy. That made him squirm inwardly, his insides shuffling in discomfort, and his hair stood at end as he stared at the dirt beneath his nails. He was so uncomfortable. His body was on the brink of dismantling itself, and he was mostly concerned about the fact that he could feel the grime caked to his skin. He felt like he needed to peel it from his muscles.

His head hurt. Whenever he tried to think about where he was or what had happened, it felt as though some child's nails had slipped through his skull and dug into his brain. He was exhausted as knuckles rapped on the inside of his scalp, rebounding and burrowing in his frontal lobe. He pressed his cool, dirty knuckles to his forehead, taking deep breaths to keep himself from vomiting.

He wandered over to a mirror, and he stared at it. His reflection blinked back, pasty and sickly and gaunt. His hair was black and shorn unevenly, grungy and sticking to his forehead. He could smell his own foul order, sour sweat and pungent oil. There were marks on his biceps. He glanced at them. Little curvatures, little crescent moons biting into the grooves of his muscles. He was dizzy and sick as he aligned his fingernails with the cuts sprinkled across his upper arms. The cuts lining his chest were shallow and long, and the bruises… he had to lean closer to see them. They were ugly and round, dotting various parts of his body, gathering particularly around his collarbone and the contours of his neck and jaw line. He touched them gingerly.

What the hell had happened?

He just didn't know.

When he returned to his bedside, he found a small pocketbook with a large post it note on its face that declared: READ ME.

He picked it up, and thumbed through it dazedly.

On the first few pages were calendars. Every day was marked off with a neat black X. The days stopped in late November. Today was a Monday.

The first page that was not a calendar had writing on it.

REMINDERS:

_Your name is Levi Ackerman._

_You are ~~fifteen~~. _ _~~sixteen~~. _ _seventeen._

_You forget stuff a lot._

_Go the fuck to school, please try to explain, you really can't afford to miss any more of it._

_Locker 219_

_It's okay to be scared._

_You'll start remembering stuff soon._

_If anyone talks to you, just pretend you know what they're talking about. It's easier._

School…

Levi glanced at the alarm clock sitting on his bedside table.

It was eleven in the morning.

"Fuck!" he choked, snatching his jeans from the bed and quickly attempting to dress himself. It hurt a lot. His limbs were objecting to every movement. He took a deep breath, sliding his fingers through his hair and itching at his scalp in discomfort. His hair was disgusting, his entire body was disgusting, and yet he had to leave the house because he was late for school. This was bullshit.

Gross.

He spent way too much time trying to find shoes, and he ended up, crawling under his bed to retrieve a pair of steel toed boots. He sat on his floor, dizzy and nauseous, and he swayed as he stared dumbly at the bruises lining his wrists. He squinted at them, and realized, horrified, that they were not bruises. They were scars.

He was really scared.

He pulled on a leather jacket that smelled like smoke and sweat and oil stains. He found it thrown in the corner, discarded and useless. He found a backpack beside it, and he was relieved to see various notebooks, a small textbook, and…

A wad of cash.

Levi's mouth fell open.

He glanced around his room nervously.

Urgently, he zipped up the backpack and threw it over his shoulder. What the fuck did he do last night?

Before leaving his room, he touched his throat, reminded of the swollen bruises. He looked around hurriedly, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from crying, and he saw a white scarf folded neatly beneath his mirror. He grabbed it and ran.

He was too anxious and scared to count the money. What if he'd done something illegal? Did he do illegal stuff a lot? Was he a criminal? How was he even supposed to get away with anything? He'd woken up and forgotten his own name! At least he couldn't blab whatever he did.

What did he do?

He found his way out of the house, walking down an uncomfortably steep set of metal stairs, and he bundled the scarf around his neck and buried his face in it. The wind was brutal as it lapped at his cheeks and his ears, toying with his dirty hair and laughing at him as he nearly slipped on a patch of ice near the landing.

He didn't know how to get to school.

He dug through his backpack, relieved when he found a set of keys, and he tilted his head at the very large garage before him. Okay. Yeah, he could do this.

You'd think he'd know better, right?

It took ten minutes to figure out that he had a key to the garage, and another five minutes to figure out which car belonged to him. The only thing he could be thankful for was that driving seemed to be a muscle memory. He pulled out of the garage easily.

The town he was in was abnormally small. He found the high school. He begged and pleaded with the universe for it to be his.

Upon parking and entering, he realized he was way out of his depth. His head still hurt and he was still severely uncomfortable. And really gross. He felt like he needed to take a bath in bleach, he felt so disgusting.

"Mr. Ackerman!"

He'd found his way to the office somehow. He was beginning to wonder if he'd dreamt his way there.

He shifted uncomfortably under the woman's glare.

"This is the fifth time you've been late this month, the third time it's been so late in the school day! Why even come?"

He opened his mouth to apologize, to explain, but he didn't know how. He didn't know the woman's name, and he didn't know what had happened to him, and he was scared to death. He closed his mouth and stared at her for a long time. She scoffed and scribbled out a note, jerking it in his face.

"Go to class, Mr. Ackerman."

He stared at her desperately. Where? Where was he supposed to go?

He ducked his head and fled the office.

The halls were deserted, which made him feel even more uncomfortable. Now he was self conscious and unsure. He was alone, and he didn't know what to do. His entire body was on the brink of shutting down. He should have stayed in bed. His brain was fuzzy, but pangs of unbearable pain kept flashing through the bog. He had to lean against a locker to catch his breath.

"Levi!"

He stiffened. It was a bright, female voice. He glanced over his shoulder, and straightened up. Whoever it was, he had to act natural. He had to act like he knew exactly what to say.

It was a girl, tiny and warm skinned, her hair in bouncy auburn ponytails, crimped heavily around her ears. She beamed at him, shoving her hands in the pockets of her faded jean vest, and she chewed a piece of bubblegum very loudly, the sickly sweet scent of it wafting toward him. He turned his face away, his stomach churning.

"Ho- _ly_  crap," she whistled, smirking. "You look like hell. 'Sup, did you get too baked last night?" She rolled her eyes up into her head, and added under her breath, "Again…"

Baked?

He shrugged meagerly.

He didn't want to talk to this girl anymore. She gave him anxiety.

"You know, it kinda works for you. I dig it. I didn't think you were into grunge, but if you ditched the scarf you could totally pull it off."

"What the fuck is grunge?" he asked her sharply. She blinked and laughed at him.

"Ah, okay, so you're not high. Good to know." She blew a bubble and popped it with her teeth. "Seriously, though. Did you even shower before coming here? You look like you just crawled out of the woods."

He didn't know how to respond, because he did not actually clean himself up before coming to school, which was stupid in hindsight.

"Was there a race last night?" she asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet as he nervously brushed past her. "Dummy! You said you'd stick to just weekends! No wonder you're so late!"

"Okay." He tried to act like he knew what she was talking about. He really didn't. So he just walked forward, pretending like he knew where he was going and letting her trail behind him like an excited puppy.

"You should take better care of yourself!" She waggled her finger at him. "It's your last year, buddy! You better buckle up, or you'll never get into college!"

"Yeah."

"Seriously, Levi, I'm serious!"

"Yeah. I heard."

"You're not even listening to me!" She puffed out her cheeks indignantly. "Unbelievable!"

He felt like he was going to pass out.

"Are you eating?" She studied his face with her large, dark eyes. "You look really pale and icky. You really shouldn't even have come."

"I'm beginning to understand that," he said in a dull monotone, "yeah."

"Why are you always so grumpy?" She scowled at him. "Lighten up!"

"Can you…" He kept walking, hurrying his steps and hoping he might lose her. He didn't know if he had to heart to be mean to this girl. He didn't even know who she was. "Can you… stop? Shut your mouth for two seconds? I'm trying to think."

"Case point!" She hollered, pointing at him and laughing. He bowed his head in embarrassment and kept walking faster. "Hey. Heeey. Levi, come on!" She followed him. "Yo, Big Bro…"

"I'm not your brother." He'd said it harshly, and he realized he'd phrased it wrong. He'd been uncertain about it. What if he was her brother? Fuck.

"Well, no shit. I'm actually attractive, and you're white trash. It's been established." She blew another bubble, and it expanded in a round, fat pink balloon around her nose and mouth. It popped like a bullet exploding through his skull. He held his head weakly. "Anyway. You missed your room. You're in Anatomy now, right?"

Uh…

Uh…

Uh. Fuck.

"Yeah. I guess."

Nailed it.

"Okay, well, see you later." The girl threw him a wink. "Off to the amazing history of our great little town of Shiganshina. Also, I stole your notes from last year out of your locker, since you never gave them to me. Even though you said you would. About five times."

"Oh."  _Sorry about that, miss, but I seem to have forgotten who the fuck you are. Please try again later_. "Okay, good. Bye."

"Bye, asshole."

He entered the room, stumbling in and standing vacantly in the doorway as every eye, every single fucking eye, swiveled toward him. So many. So many people, and they were looking at him with such vacant stares, and he was staring back, feeling as though he'd done something horribly wrong, and his backpack with its wad of bills weighed him down, digging into his shoulders as he stood frozen in place. His breath had been stolen from him. He needed a moment to regain a sense of consciousness.

He needed a year to regain his sense of self.

He needed a lifetime to unravel himself from his fucked up head.

The room smelled like someone had spilt ten gallons of bleach and shut all the windows. He swayed uneasily in place, his gut clenching up.

"Levi…?" His teacher tilted his head at him curiously. "Did you just come in?"

He nodded. He did not look the man in the eye.

"Okay, well get to your seat. We're about to start dissecting, so I bet Farlan's relieved he won't have to do it all by himself now."

"Oh." He did not understand, and his head, his head… He tried not to let his eyes linger on any one person, and he searched the room wildly for an empty seat, but his vision was fraying, the edges turning blurry, and he blinked furiously to make it go away.

"Levi. Your seat?"

"Yeah," he blurted, holding his hand up and stumbling forward. "Yeah. I got it."

A boy with a long face waved him over from by the window. Levi marched toward him as though he knew exactly who he was and exactly what he was doing.

"Hey," the boy whispered, nudging him as he sat down on the stool beside him. "Bro, you high?"

"Farlan," he said, testing the name and glancing at the boy, feeling anxiety grip him as he waited for a reaction. He got none. So that had to be the kid's name. "I am fine. Okay? What are we doing right now?"

"Uh…" Farlan glanced down at the weird specimen in the tray before them. Levi stared. It was a dead cat lying on its back. "Dissecting."

"Gross."

"You wanted to take this class, remember?" Farlan sunk into his stool. "I was like, hey, let's do public speak, you totally need it, and you were like, fuck that. And suddenly you were in Honors Anatomy, and I'm just like, crap, can't do public speaking alone. And now we're dissecting a cat." Farlan shoved a pair of scissors at him. "Congratulations. I named him Kenny."

"Oh." Levi didn't know if that was supposed to mean something, but he took the scissors anyway. "Excellent."

"I thought you'd appreciate it."

He touched the dead cat tentatively, and pulled back, grimacing at the feeling of its wet skin. The stench of formaldehyde was unbearable. He could feel it burning in his throat.

"Levi, what's up with your hands?" Farlan peered at them curiously. "They're all dirty."

He sat, dizzily taking in all the awful fumes, the formaldehyde and the scent of his own sweat, of oil, of something else that he could not shake. He felt disgusting.

"Gimme." He dragged the dead cat closer and pinched its skin, cutting it with grand precision. It seemed he had steady hands when he needed to. Nice to know. He snatched a scalpel and made a long incision. "There. Congratulations." He tossed the scalpel into a tray, and it clinked noisily as he stood up, wobbling on his feet. "Kenny's yours to rip apart."

"Where are you going?" Farlan gasped as Levi rounded the table. The teacher eyed him suspiciously when he came up to the desk.

"I need to go," he said, every word a chore, his breath heavy and thick. He swallowed hard. "I need to go to the bathroom."

"Are you feeling ill, Levi?"

"Yeah." He didn't know how else to describe it. This was supposedly commonplace for him, but no one had a fucking clue about it. It was terrifying. "Yeah, I can't do this. I can't do this…"

"Go," the teacher gasped. And Levi fled again.

He stumbled his way through the school, and flung himself into the first bathroom he could find. He ran to the pristine looking porcelain sink, and he flicked both faucets, throwing his hands beneath the sting of water and scrubbing furiously at his grimy flesh. The odd little carving on his forearms burned viciously with every stretch of his skin. The more he washed, the more he realized that there were similar markings faded against his skin. This was not an uncommon terror. This was his life.

Soap was a weird scent, too clean, too clean, for his dirty senses to truly take. The mixture of it all, the heavy amalgamation of soap and bleach and formaldehyde and sweat and dirt and sex and oil, and made him so fucking sick, he was so fucking sick, and he couldn't wash it away, so what the fuck was he supposed to do? He had no memory, no personality, just a string of unfamiliar faces and places, a few reminders to force him to string it all together. But he couldn't.

He vomited, his body buckling, into the sink, and it vanished along with the flow of water, splashing and draining, splashing and draining, and he was sick. He was sick of this fuzzy, hazy, messed up head of his, and he was okay, he was okay, he was okay, apparently, because no one seemed to fucking notice that he was genuinely falling apart.

Who was he?

Levi Ackerman? Who the fuck was that?

What the fuck happened last night?

Do you think you know, or are you tired of this story yet?

Whatever.

When he stopped puking his guts out, he let himself heave for a minute or so, sticking his head under the faucet and capturing mouthfuls of water, gurgling and spitting. A boy walked in, took one look at him, and walked out. Levi stared after him, wiping his mouth, and sinking to his knees after turning the water off. What the hell was he supposed to do? Where was his family? Did his family know that he was so fucked up?

No one else seemed to know. Why hadn't he told anyone? What good was he?

He unzipped his backpack, ignoring the wad of cash that sat like a weight between a Trig book and a map. He pulled the map out carefully, and unfolded it against his knee.

There was a street circled. An address was written above it. He recognized the handwriting. It was his.

He folded up the map, and kept looking. There was a compass, a flashlight, a bottle of water, which he guzzled gratefully, a pair of gloves, and a few notebooks. He opened open up and began to flip through it. He found his locker combination, which was nice.

He stopped at the last page. There was a note written in a quick, neat script, perfect for reading, not incredibly ornate.

_I am no sorrier for you than myself_

_We are both human beings…_

_Alas! Both of us have come through the gates of the dark_

_And thither return…_

_Why should we pity each other here in the night?_

He sat, staring at the words confusedly.

There was a quick note scrawled under it.

_I remembered the name of this poem halfway through writing it, and I'm really embarrassed. You have permission to punch me, it's awful._

Who the fuck was writing poems in his notebooks?

He touched his neck, and frowned. He didn't like this at all.

What was he supposed to do? Where did the map go to? Was it whoever wrote the poem?

He shut the backpack and headed out of the bathroom, feeling marginally better but still incredibly disjointed and a little furious. How could he be like this all the time? The notes made it seem like an every day occurrence. He needed to figure this out. He needed to understand what was happening to him.

He found his locker, 219. He unlocked it, and he opened it with the expectation of a thousand notes waiting to explain his entire fucked up life.

No.

Nothing.

There was nothing in it but books. A few pictures were on the door, though, that was something. The girl from earlier, the warm skinned one with crimped hair, she beamed at a Polaroid and winked. She was wearing very little clothing, her midriff showing and highlights in her hair, pink paint splattered across her bare shoulder.  _Isabel Magnolia_ , the bottom of the Polaroid declared.  _August, 1997_. Another of Farlan, who he recognized immediately, wearing a cowboy hat and looking very awkward and sheepish.  _Farlan Church, April, 1997_.

A Polaroid of the little girl from the picture in his bedroom, the picture where he'd held her. She was standing with her lips pursed, her eyes set defiantly, and she glowered at his camera perpetually, an angry little girl for his collage of special people who meant everything and nothing.

_Mikasa Ackerman, July, 1997_.

Ackerman.

He touched the photograph hopefully.

His sister, maybe?

He had to find out.

He had to know.

Something told him he wouldn't figure it out if he went back to the place he'd woken up in.

He made a split second decision and bolted. He left the school without a thought, climbing back into his Camaro and tearing the map from his backpack, flattening it on his dashboard. He had no idea where he was going and it didn't matter, because he had a goal. So he drove. He drove out of the town, which the map called Shiganshina, and through Trost, and farther and farther north, until a snowstorm hit.

You'd think he'd know better.

But it's not like you'd do anything different.

In the end, beating curiosity is too damn hard.

Especially when you've got nothing to lose.

Anyway, a snowstorm hit, and the roads were already icy. Imagine that mixed with a dazed, manic, amnesiac kid with no real idea where he was heading, only that the map and the compass seemed to be aligning. There was a phone number along with an address, which was handy, and he'd planned to call the number as soon as he found a payphone, but…

His vision had blurred rapidly, suddenly, and without warning he'd skidded three lanes and smashed into a guardrail.

Out like a fucking light.

He woke up in the hospital, which scared the fuck out of him. He was aching all over. Déjà vu. He couldn't remember his— oh, right. Levi Ackerman. Right. Car crash. Right. Who the fuck was in charge of him, because they needed to be fired. He was a walking disaster, the human equivalent to a house after a tornado jauntily rolled over it.

The nurse asked his name. He gave it. He asked for his address. He said it was on the map. His phone number. The map.

He was told about his injuries, and the ones he'd had that morning were just chalked up to being part of the crash, which horrified him because he knew they weren't and he was scared of what they were and what they meant.

Half an hour later, a man and a girl were standing before him. He squinted. He'd never seen the man before, but the girl…

She clung to the man's hip, watching Levi with careful eyes, smart eyes. She knew he was hurt. She knew him. He knew her. Mikasa. Her name was Mikasa. They were family. That was it. That was the only important thing in the whole fucking world.

He sat up, wincing as the nurse touched his back. He was scared of people and he didn't know why.

"Um…" His speech was slow because of whatever drugs he'd been given, and everything was a cloud, a big fat cloud lingering over and inside his head. "Dad…?"

The man looked utterly alarmed. Totally caught off guard. Mikasa blinked rapidly, and glanced up at him. And then the man smiled, nodding gently.

"Yeah. Yeah, Levi. I—"

"Levi," his nurse said sharply, "this is your uncle. Remember?"

"O-oh."

The disappointment he felt was indescribable.

The nurse and his uncle left to talk, and there was some vaguely harsh words that he couldn't really here, so he ignored it. Mikasa climbed onto his bed, and he stared at her. She rocked back and forth.

"Hi," she said.

Levi stared. His mouth opened, and his throat burned. He closed his mouth. He could not cry in front of this little girl.

"You could have just called," she murmured, smoothing out her dress. "If you wanted to come over, you could have just called, and Papa would have picked you up."

He didn't know what to say, so he just stared. He wanted to explain _. I don't remember you, or him, or anything, you see_ , he wanted to say.  _I don't know what's going on. Please, you have to understand_. But he said nothing.

"You never come over," she sighed. "Do you hate us?"

"No," he said. Though, he didn't know. Did he? No, he couldn't. He couldn't do it. How could he possibly hate them? They were his family.

"I know it's a real long drive," she continued, "but you really are welcome whenever, you know. We like having you around."

"Oh."

"Oh…" She squinted at him. "Papa was really scared when the hospital called. I was doing adding."

"Oh?"

"Yes." She sighed, tucking her long, sleek black hair behind her ear. "It's gross. But, Levi, he was really scared. I was really scared. Why didn't you just  _call_?"

He felt so guilty, and he didn't even know why.

"I just didn't think to."

"Do you ever think?" she asked him coolly. His eyes narrowed. What a little bitch.

He realized he probably adored her.

Her father returned, sporting a soft, apologetic smile. He sat down on the bed beside his daughter, and placed his hand on her head.

"So I just got off the phone with your aunt," he began, sounding very tentative. "And I was thinking… well, we were all thinking… that maybe you'd like to spend Hanukkah with us?"

He stared blankly. Hanukkah. Okay, that sounded familiar.

"I know it's your birthday," he said quickly, "but it works out perfectly because you'll be on break from school because of Christmas, won't you?"

"Uh…"

"I should probably talk it over with Kenny," the man admitted, sighing. "But you know how he is. I thought I'd get your opinion first. What do you think?"

He didn't know what to say.

"Um…" He didn't know what to think or say or do, because there was nothing in him but empty space and fear. And, at this point in time, some semblance of hope. "Okay…"

"Great!" His uncle beamed at him, and Mikasa perked up considerably. "You don't mind if I decidedly don't extend the invite to your father, do you? It's not like's he practices his faith— or if he does, not the Jewish faith, I'll tell you that. Ah, Mikasa, get your feet off the bed, you know how Levi feels about dirt."

"Sorry, Levi."

Hope.

What a fucking joke.

You know very well how this ends. You know there was no hope from the start.

* * *

Armin leaned up against a tree, holding his head and moaning. No, no, no, no, no, he didn't know, he didn't know, his head hurt so badly and he just didn't know. Levi was right. He was right, he was right, he was right.

It was scary not knowing.

He didn't know why he was being shown these things. The first— the first, Armin was almost certain had been Levi's death. Historia had been there. That didn't make any sense. Why would she be there? This was all too much, all too much, and he didn't know what to do.

He supposed it could be worse, though. He could have woken up without any memory, covered in cuts and bruises.

Now that was a nightmare.

He pushed off the tree, exhaling sharply and massaging his temples. "Levi," he muttered. "What the fuck are you doing?"

The ghost did not answer, but Armin knew he was there. Beside, behind, or inside, who knew. Possession worked in weird ways. Right now, Armin was in control, but for how long? He wandered about the woods, his bare feet scraping against the forest floor, and he thought about Levi's fear of what had happened to him, and wondered if he'd ever found out. Had it been Kenny? But then, where had the money come from? Had it just been there?

Armin didn't know. He  _hated_  not knowing.

He thought he heard the sound of soft footsteps somewhere in the great, yawning darkness, and he froze. He listened very hard. The world was still, except for crickets and the croaking and the cracking of twigs in the distance. Armin stood in shock, in fear, and then, without thinking, he ran. He was terrified of the unknown, of not knowing, of wanting to know.

It was so difficult.

"Eren," Armin breathed. But Eren was not there. Eren would not come.

Don't go into the woods.

He should have listened.

He was panicking, and he knew it, and he slid, skidding, gasped, and clamped his hands over his mouth to stifle a scream as he slipped and rolled down a sharp incline, twigs smashing into him and dragging long lacerations down his back. He let himself lie on the ground, shaky and breathless, and curl up against the dead, dry leaves. He began to cry.

It was a relief when the feeling came over him again, less of an attack from the head and more of a hand laying a soft, warm blanket over him. It was nice.

Rewind.

* * *

Play.

So, forgetting was probably a better option than the alternative. Who'd want to remember so many terrible things? Count yourself lucky, you've been spared most of them. But what happened did happen, no matter what was forgotten.

Inevitably, Levi ended up spending Hanukkah with his uncle, aunt, and cousin.

Inevitably, it became a tradition.

It was genuinely the only time where Levi felt safe. Where he didn't have to worry about what he might be missing, what responsibilities he was neglecting because his memory was shit. It was miraculous that he'd made it through high school. It was miraculous he'd made it through high school without anyone institutionalizing him.

He wished they had.

Everyone  _knew_  he had "problems". He heard them talking about it when they thought he wasn't listening. They diagnosed him at a glance.

Depressed. Manic. Bipolar. Sociopathic. Dissociative.

But no one bothered to ask him if he needed help.

He probably wouldn't have objected if he'd been sat down and told exactly what was wrong with him. He'd have been relieved. He'd have been thankful. It meant that there was a reason, there was a name. There was something there. He wasn't just an broken cog in a massive machine, there was genuinely something there, something to him. He wished someone had just given him that.

But no one cared.

Not even Isabel and Farlan knew or understood. They just thought it was part of his personality. How did they even deal with him? He was awful. He couldn't function as a person, he was just a fluctuating mass of discomfort and uncertainties.

But his aunt and uncle actually sensed there was something wrong.

"Hello, Levi," his aunt greeted him one year when he'd tentatively let himself into her cottage-like house. The other Ackermans lived in the countryside, surrounded by massive forests and rivers and lakes and farmland. It made Shiganshina's natural beauty look like a waste dump. "You drove here by yourself?"

"Tch," he grunted, quickly closing the door behind him. "Yes?"

"Were the roads okay?" She squinted at him. "Are you okay?"

He'd sighed. "Yeah, I'm okay," he said earnestly. "I remember things okay right now. Where's the brat?"

"Your cousin," his aunt corrected sternly, "is in her room tidying up. Because she decided to wait until last minute to clean."

"I could have done it."

"You're our guest, Levi," his aunt said firmly. "You really need to stop assuming you owe us for this. You're  _family_ , remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember, okay, but I actually _like_  cleaning." He cracked his knuckles, throwing his bag and backpack onto a couch. "I'm gonna go scare the shit out of her."

"Have fun with that."

"Oh, I will."

You know, there are some people in your life that genuinely love and accept you no matter how fucked up you are?

It was really nice while it lasted.

"One, two—" Later, probably during the second or third day of his stay that year, he hefted Mikasa up on his knee so she could reach the Menorah. He didn't really trust her with fire, but she lit the wick with her tiny hand clamped tight around the long match. She withdrew the match, blinking at the fluttering flame, and she blew at it with enough force to tickle a dandelion. Levi rolled his eyes and blew it out.

"Hey…" She scowled at him. He dropped her, standing up and walking away. She spluttered in irritation. "Hey!"

His uncle chuckled while his aunt watched with an even expression. "Okay," she said. "That went better than expected."

"You have so much faith in our daughter," his uncle murmured. "Astounding. Levi. Where are you going?"

He paused midstep, shooting a sharp glance at the man. He'd been hoping to get away and hide in Mikasa's room before the annual grilling began where he was asked about Kenny's treatment of him, which he always claimed to not recall, whether it was true or not.

"I'm tired," he said. "I was going to go lie down."

"Loser," Mikasa uttered softly. His uncle laughed, and his aunt scolded both her husband and daughter sharply.

"Brat," he retorted, feeling foolish and immature, snapping at a child.

"I'll put you both in time out," his aunt said sharply, waving her finger at her daughter and her nephew. "I swear, Levi, I don't care how old you are, this is a family holiday, and you're going to act like it."

"You're not even Jewish," he exhaled irritably.

"We celebrate my holidays just as much as we celebrate yours," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "You just happen to not be around for them, usually. Unless you'd like to attend a Buddhist festival with us sometime."

"I'm okay."

"Then celebrate your holiday like you mean it," his aunt huffed. "It's not fair that I'm more enthusiastic than you are, and it's not even my religion. Do you believe in your god, or not?"

"Yes," Levi said weakly, though he wasn't really sure.

"Then  _act_  like it."

Mikasa was smirking behind her tiny hands, glancing at him with her clever gray eyes. He knew exactly what the little bitch was thinking.  _How does it feel to get your butt handed to you, huh, Levi?_  What a little demon.

"Why don't you say a prayer, Levi?" his aunt suggested.

He stared at her. Horror washed over him. Oh. Oh no.

"I…" He blanched. Oh no… "I…"

"Go on," Mikasa urged. She was looking expectant and hopeful, but also as though she was preparing to watch a train wreck.

"Uh…" He swallowed thickly. This was embarrassing. "I don't know any."

They glanced at him. Mikasa whistled through her teeth and turned away. His uncle looked plainly disappointed, but not surprised. His aunt stared. She pressed her hands over her nose and lips, and she glanced up at the ceiling as if to say, " _Give me strength, holy shit_."

"Okay," she sighed. "It's okay. Come on, everyone, sit down. It's time to teach Levi some prayers."

He didn't feel too bad about it until Mikasa smiled at him, and whispered in his ear, "It's okay, it happens every year."

He was such a fucking mess.

She took his hand, and guided him through it.

* * *

Armin's breath was uneven, and his entire body was numb as he pushed himself upright and began to walk. This memory had not been so bad at all. In fact, it had been… soothing. Armin was vaguely comforted by the thought of it, the warmth of a long shattered family. He was clinging to it because he had nothing left to hold onto. He was wandering, lost and sad, through the woods without really knowing or caring where he was going.

At this point, he couldn't tell if his legs were moving on his own accord, or if Levi had completely hijacked his body. Perhaps he'd done it just to take a stroll, just to remember what the feeling of cool air on his skin felt like, what pain and discomfort, a familiar thing to him, was and how to accept it.

There was moonlight trickling through the snarling trees, and he let that guide him. His eyes were well adjusted now, and the darkness didn't seem so scary. But still, he wanted to go home. The forest was a labyrinth, a maze of great, twisted trunks and spindly branches, grizzly underbrush and slimy moss. He did not recognize the area, despite having explored these woods time and again, and that scared him.

How much fear could he take before he had a full blown panic attack?

Wandering was easy when he felt too empty to care. Apathy would consume him, and he was okay with that. He knew that was wrong. He knew he could and should fight it, but he'd exhausted his willpower.

Once more he heard the whispery sound of feet dragging somewhere out in the eerie wilderness, between the twisty trees and the uprooted trunks, somewhere close by, somewhere so close that when Armin held his breath, he could hear someone else breathing.

He heard someone sobbing.

He pivoted, pulling his sweatshirt over his mouth and noise to muffle the sound of his breath, and his eyes darted frantically. Long, gnarled tree limbs and tangled webs of foliage, dead leaves blowing in the quick, vicious wind, toads croaking and water lapping in the distance, and his eyes, wide and terrified, fell on a drifting little silhouette that passed between two pallid tree trunks. Moonlight fell upon the figure and shattered like glass, features distorting and edging away from reality with every jerky step and every shuddering wail.

In a half-dreaming state, Armin followed the figure, keeping a distance and wincing every time his feet brushed the noisy forest floor.

_I'm an idiot_ , he thought.

But still, he followed sobs, overtaken by his need to understand what was happening to and around him.

He paused as he reached the top of a hill, peering through the vicious lines of trees and into the blackened road that snaked the outskirts of the forest. He remembered it well.

That feeling returned, as though it had never left, and it was familiar. Cold, but familiar. His feet moved even as he stopped commanding them. He was on autopilot.

Replay.

* * *

Don't you hate it when you get that awful feeling in the pit of your stomach, that inkling that everyone around you knows something you don't, and it makes you fucking sick because you're already scared shitless that you're losing it, and people in general just add fuel to the fire?

Yeah. All the fucking time.

It got progressively worse, too.

He watched his white knuckles tremble against his steering wheel, and he exhaled. The sun was setting, and the trees were going up in flame, and he couldn't think with all the light streaming in through the windshield, he couldn't breathe with all the nagging thoughts and vicious reminders and understanding that he could lose it all if he slipped up.

"Slow down," his companion told him gently.

He jumped. He'd forgotten he'd even been there. He released the gas pedal, throwing a hurried glance in the man's direction. He was a friend. Of sorts. A constant presence, sometimes welcome, usually not. But Isabel and Farlan had moved away in the years after high school, calling every now and again and leaving voicemails for their estranged friend who was too scared of not knowing them to pick up the phone. But this man was always there, and it made him sick.

He tried to relax, but the more the man looked at him, the more he wanted to jerk the wheel and deliver him to his maker.

Not that he would. Right?

He swallowed thickly. He needed to calm down. He needed to think.

"Levi, did you listen to a word I said?"

Erwin Smith. He had a few sticky notes about him in obscure places, as though in the past Levi had been ashamed of knowing him, and his existence had been a well kept secret. In between the pages of a book of poems, rolled up in a carton of cigarettes, scribbled in the margins of notebooks. Most of the notes were negative _. Don't trust Erwin Smith, he's a giant bag of dicks. If you meet a guy named Erwin, do not talk to him. Avoid contact with tall, blond haired men_. Levi didn't get it. He seemed nice enough.

"No. And if you repeat it, I'm still not gonna listen."

"You're infuriating," Erwin murmured, resting his cheek against his fist. "I'm genuinely just trying to offer you my assistance."

"Who said I want or need it?"

"You did," Erwin reminded carefully. "About a month ago. I don't suppose you remember, but you were sporting a rather ugly bruise, or seven, and a very bad cut that never healed properly. You and I both know who gave those to you."

He didn't want to talk about it.

"I know, okay?" Erwin leaned forward. "I know about Kenny. I know what he does to you. What I'm offering is a way out."

"I'm not supposed to trust you," Levi replied, staring at the road, feeling uneasy.

"What? Really?" He sounded so fucking intrigued, and it was annoying. "Why?"

"I don't know. You must have done something to piss me off at some point. I have like a thousand notes that say not to trust a word you say."

The man looked very pensive. He leaned back in his seat, nodding vaguely, and Levi just did not get it. "And yet here you are. Seeking me out." The man slumped, looking for once almost put out. "And here I am, at your beck and call. As usual."

Levi shot him a confused glance, and the man waved offhandedly, a motion to forget it.

"I only called you because you're the only person I seem to trust within a few miles of here, so excuse me. If you don't like it, get the fuck out."

"You trust me?" He looked genuinely alarmed. "But you just said—"

"I know, okay?" he snapped. "I don't get it either. But regardless of whatever you did to me in the past to make me hate you—" He recalled, for a moment, some odd memories stirring in the back of his mind, and it disturbed him mildly. He winced, and he held his head. He was very dizzy, but he had to remember. He had to remember, he had to remember, he had to remember, or else—

"Levi!"

He looked up, and instinct took over the moment he saw the small child running before him, and he slammed on the break so hard his chest smacked the wheel, and he coughed in overwhelming pain, making a great effort to smash his fist between his chest and the wheel until his horn blared. He listened to the skidding tires, and he stared, wide eyed and terrified, as gravity took over.

The car skidded to a halt, and Levi blinked the stars from his eyes as both their backs slammed into their seats. Levi gripped the wheel tightly, and he realized he was breathing very heavily, so he tried to school himself. Erwin was much more composed. While Levi shook with horror at what almost just happened, the man beside him looked almost serene. He stared with a strangely electrified expression at the child in the street, who was on the ground, but sitting upright.

"Oh my god," Levi exhaled, slumping against his backrest. "Oh my god…"

"Are you okay?" Erwin asked him mildly.

He shot the man a cold glower as he pried his trembling fingers from the sweat-slick steering wheel. No. No, he was not okay. Holy fuck.

He blinked as another child came stumbling out of the wooded area that skirted the road, shouting something incomprehensible and skidding to his knees before the boy on the ground. Levi watched as the other boy cradled the kid's hands, and it was so foreign to him, this idea that people could care about each other so innocently like that.

He opened his door, and he paused. He didn't know how to deal with kids. He remembered Mikasa, yeah, but he hadn't seen her in awhile, and… and he didn't want to admit that he'd forgotten almost everything about her. It was coming back, of course, just... far too slowly.

He climbed out, suddenly furious, his eyes burning from tears he refused to shed, and he slammed the door shut. He saw the kid he almost hit completely recoil, and guilt gnawed at him as the child latched onto the other boy, who shot Levi the most intense fucking glare he'd ever seen. It was almost laughable. Levi could have laughed. He should have laughed, because these kids were so stupid, and he was so angry, and he should have just run them over!

"What the hell are you kids doing in the middle of the fu—!" A voice in his head, a feminine voice that he recalled, he  _recalled_  to be his aunt's, scolded him for swearing. "The freakin' road?"

Yeah. That's right, kid. You remember this, don't you?

This is probably where your story begins.

This is close to where his…  _mine_ … ends.

You wanted to know, didn't you?

Well, here it is.

The whole fucking tragedy.

"Why didn't you look where you were going?" Eren Jaeger, age whatever, snapped. "You could have killed him!"

"He ran out in the middle of the road," Levi said, dizzy and sick with his own uncertain rage. "Maybe I should've hit him. Taught him a lesson."

Immediately after speaking, Levi felt as though he'd made a mistake.

It had been his fault, hadn't it?

He'd fucked up.

He was so fucked up.

But, so are you. So maybe it was your fault too.

"What? Are you serious? What kind of person hurts someone to teach them a  _lesson_? What is  _wrong_  with you? What the— what the hell! It doesn't matter why he was in the middle of the road, you don't say shit like that, you just don't! You don't do that!" With every word Eren shouted, Levi wanted to shrink back into the pitiless pit he'd crawled out of and never come out again. He was right, of course. What kind of person did stuff like that?

Kenny.

And that's why it was wrong.

Even he, as confused and fucked up as he was, could see that.

"Kid…" Oh. Yeah. So, quick recap. Levi generally liked to pretend like he was put together, when actuality he had no idea what was going on around him a good… ninety percent of the time. He relied on muscle memory and sticky notes. Not a good way to live. So you know what? Yeah. He's fucking unpleasant. But he really didn't mean to be. "God, okay. Calm down. It was a joke."

No it wasn't. It was a lapse of judgment. He was still trying to understand what was going on around him. It had been weeks since he'd woken up without memory, and he still could not function like a normal human being.

Had he ever known normalcy? Ever?

"You make shitty jokes!" Eren cried, all weird and tiny and righteous, and Levi had no time for it.

"Yeah, I know. Where the fuck are your parents?"

"J-just across the street," the child, an even tinier version of Armin Arlert than you are now, lied through his baby teeth. "We were going home. Come on." He got to his feet and tried to drag Eren away, but of course the little stubborn ass just wouldn't go. Levi had to give him credit.

He seemed to know exactly who he was.

Fuck, did he envy that kid.

"You need to apologize. Right now. Apologize to Armin."

Apologies. Funny. You'd think that'd mean something.

Nah.

"That's not necessary!" Armin gasped.

Nah.

You're wrong.

Why the fuck are you always wrong?

"Come on… please, Eren, leave this alone…"

Coward.

"Not until this bastard apologizes!"

You know what's funny? You steal his bravado like a dentist steals teeth.

Fuck you, kid. Grow a spine.

Take it from someone who forgot he had one.

"Not fucking likely, brat," Levi said, climbing back into his car. "Listen to your dumbass of a friend and go home."

Yeah, yeah. Hypocrite, he's a hypocrite. Moving on.

And the dumbass little kid just waltzed up to the camaro and planted his hands firmly on the hood. "Apologize!"

"Eren!"

Erwin was watching from the passenger seat, leaning forward with large eyes and looking actually impressed. Levi sighed.

"Move your ass, kiddo," he said. "Or I'll make you a pancake."

Well. Yeah.

He probably should have just apologized.

"Like hell. You wouldn't do it. You swerved to miss Armin, you're all talk. So talk. Apologize  _right now_!"

"Apologize, Levi." Erwin did not even look at him as he spoke. "You're the one at fault here, and you know it."

It wasn't what Levi wanted to hear. He scoffed. He stared at the kids, and he felt an immense amount of guilt. His head ached, and he thought… he thought of a lot of things, and he remembered a lot of things, and it was just bad. Bad, bad, bad. Bad timing. Bad thoughts. Bad feelings. Bad news.

Bad person, probably.

You know it's true, right?

At least you're no better.

He climbed back into the car and left those kids without a word.

"You're ridiculous," Erwin remarked.

"Shut up." He kept his eyes on the road, reminding himself that he may very well run over a kid or two if he didn't. What was wrong with him? Why did nothing and no one help? Why was this an ongoing thing that no one would fix?

"You nearly just killed a boy, and then you refused to apologize for it." Erwin pursed his lips, eying him with an implacable expression. "What do you expect me to do? Sit quietly as you struggle with basic motor functions? You are losing your grip, Levi."

"You're wrong," he snapped.  _I never had one to begin with_.

"I am not," Erwin said calmly. Levi exhaled shakily. He needed to think. He needed to stop, and think, and remember.

No.

That was the exact opposite of what he needed.

He needed to forget.

It was too much, okay? It was too fucking much.

He swerved, and with the dying daylight dipping below the horizon, the car was thrown into a hazy grayish shadow. He pulled over, putting the car in park and taking a few deep breaths. Erwin was watching him, of course, with his level expression and his judging eyes, and of course there was nothing that could be done about it.

They were both overwhelmingly silent. The only noise that managed to drift between them was the heavy inhale and exhale that he could not quiet down, for he was genuinely terrified of knowing what was inside his own head.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He opened his mouth to reply, and it lingered open, air escaping his lips shakily. He closed his eyes and listened to the broken record sound. He was doomed to a cycle of terrifying himself simply because he was too stubborn to seek help.

"No."

"I think you should anyway."

Levi pressed his lips together, thinking very hard, and he felt memories surfacing that he wished would stay fucking dead and buried. He felt sick to his stomach. He inched away, sliding precariously to the edge of his seat. Something just didn't sit right with him. Something did not add up.

He stared out the window. He had to think.

Bruises and scratches and achy limbs.

He wanted to puke.

"I forget everything," he said. "You could say or do anything to me, and you know I won't remember it. You know that. You're completely fucking aware. So why are you pushing me?" He didn't sound as angry as he felt. "Is it because you feel guilty about something?"

"I'm really not following here," Erwin said carefully. "I don't mean to push you. But I want to know why this is happening to you, and you clearly don't."

Levi shot him the chilliest glare he could manage, and he wished that Erwin could feel the disgust and terror he'd felt, because in that moment Levi decided he hated him thoroughly out of spite.

Feelings are fleeting.

Especially love and hate.

Are you wondering why this is necessary for you to see?

Frankly, after being alone for so long, it's difficult to stop.

And you wanted to understand. Right?

"Have we ever had sex?" he asked sharply. Plainly. It was a question that he could hardly understand, because he felt as though he'd been closed off from himself and from everyone around him. He couldn't even imagine intimacy, it was such a sickening thought, to be so close and so vulnerable when he was already unravelling at the seams.

Even speaking it out loud made him feel dirty. He didn't want to think about it, but it was there. In his head. And it wouldn't go away. He felt like he needed to crawl out of his own skin, purely because nothing about it made sense to him, and he only had a vague idea that it happened. The aftermath, though? That he remembered vividly.

At first, Erwin looked confused.

Then there was shock. The pure shock of Erwin's face was enough of an answer, really.

Truly. Levi wanted to vomit.

"Oh," Erwin whispered. "Oh no. You… you don't remember…?"

He closed his eyes, and he shook his head. He didn't want to hear this. He shouldn't have brought it up. This was so stupid. He didn't even care that much, it was so stupid.  _Just shut up about it, I don't care, just leave me alone_.

"It was only once," Erwin explained hastily. "And that was a long, long time ago. You made it very clear afterwards that you didn't want a relationship like that— ever. You were really angry. Like… you are now, I suppose."

Levi sat, eyes closed, jaw set, his entire body shaking in spite of his own vicious, biting commands to calm down, calm down, calm down, it wasn't a big deal, but it  _was_. He didn't know how any of this had happened, how he should react or if he should have a reaction at all, because no one had taught him what was okay and what wasn't but it didn't feel okay to him, and he didn't know what to do because it really had been so long ago, hadn't it?

What the hell was he supposed to do?

Knowing was so much scarier than not knowing.

Because now he had to actually deal with it instead of burying it in his head with all the rest of the bad things that, yes, he'd rather stay forgotten.

Maybe it wasn't so bad being a fucked up amnesiac.

He dragged his hands down his face, slipping lower into his seat as his eyes cracked open. It was dark now. He could only see the vague outline of Erwin's face when he glanced at him. His chest hurt from the anxiety and his stomach was clenched in disgust.

It wasn't even Erwin's fault. It wasn't fair that Levi was blaming him, he obviously didn't know at the time that Levi had memory problems, and maybe Levi hadn't known either. Maybe that had been the first time he'd temporarily lost his memory. Maybe he was making a big deal out of nothing.

No. Regardless, he was upset. And he had to take it out on someone.

"Do you want to know," Levi spat, unable to look the man in the eye, "what I woke up to after that happened? I woke up in a strange room, not remembering my name, completely covered in scratches and bruises and dirt, and I had no idea what had happened to me. I still don't know what happened to me. You… you have no fucking idea what it's like to not know who you are, Erwin, so if I'm a little fucking pissy because some loudmouthed little brat started screaming at me while I'm remembering something I really, really wanted to forget for good,  _excuse me_  for not getting on my fucking knees and begging for forgiveness."

Erwin was quiet, and Levi listened to his own rattling breath, his throat tightening as he continued to shake, his entire body rejecting the idea of what had happened, even though he knew it had been consensual, he knew that, he remembered that at least, but it hadn't helped him then.

"I didn't know," Erwin whispered. "Levi, I… I'm sorry, I had no idea—"

"You know what doesn't help?" he hissed. "Your empty fucking apologies. I don't want to remember anything about you, okay? I want to hate you. I keep trying to get myself to hate you, because, news flash!" He slammed his fist down on the dashboard. " _You don't help_!"

"Okay." He didn't sound resigned or sad or angry, he simply sounded like he was agreeing with an offhanded statement, like if he wanted coffee or not. "I get it. If you want me to leave you alone after this, I will. But, Levi, I swear I didn't take advantage of you."

"I  _know_  that!" He didn't know how to make this go away, and he just wanted him to stop talking, he just wanted to forget everything all over again. "That's not the point!"

"Then please," Erwin begged, leaning forward. Levi leaned back. "Explain to me. I need you to make me understand, so I don't hurt you like this again."

"You think there's going to be an again?" he asked coldly. "No. Next time I forget about you, Erwin, it's going to be for good."

"If that's what you want…" Erwin's eyes were bright in the darkness, and Levi realized he was crying, and he was thankful that the man couldn't see it. "Cut me out if you want, Levi, but please. Keep in contact with Hange. You cannot be alone in this, you understand me? I don't care if you hate me. I probably deserve it. But you need someone to be there for you when you can't remember who you are. So let them in, and…"

He found himself digging his nails into his scalp, lowering himself very slowly toward the steering wheel until his face was practically pressed up against it. He didn't know if he wanted this, if he wanted to hate this guy or hate the world, or if he wanted to forget everything and just become nothing all over again. He wanted a fresh start, but he also craved normalcy.

He felt a hand on his back, and he lurched away, his heart stuttering in shock and horror, and he croaked, "Don't! Don't you fucking dare!" His voice was so small and pitiful, and he hated himself for it. He thought about it, and he thought, yeah. He was physically really fucking strong. His entire weight could be attributed to muscle mass, and he knew. He knew he could break Erwin's prissy fucking face if he came any closer. But that wasn't the trouble, of course it wasn't. The trouble was that Levi was scared of people who wanted to be around him, because he could not know their intentions and he could not trust them to stay.

He found himself pressed up against his door, staring at Erwin's shadowy face, his uneven breath rattling in the cold, vacant silence.

"I truly am sorry, Levi," Erwin said quietly. "I…"

"Go."

Erwin was struck silent. Somehow, Levi suspected he was not used to such a helpless feeling. Served him right.

"Okay," Erwin said, much to Levi's immense shock, and he unbuckled his seatbelt and exited the car. Levi stared after him, clenching his teeth. He had to keep himself from objecting. Erwin's tall, bulky silhouette moved around the car and disappeared. Levi watched. His mouth fell open, and he slumped in his seat.

Crying didn't help.

Screaming didn't help.

Nothing. Nobody.

There was no help at all.

He returned home with a tear-streaked face and bloody knuckles. He stood for a moment in the doorway, swaying as he observed his father tinkering at something, a watch perhaps, with a penknife.

He felt sick. He felt empty and sick, and somehow that was supposed to be okay, that was just who he was. He had medication that he didn't take because he forgot he had it, meds for depression, meds for anxiety, meds for a number of disorders that he didn't know if he actually had or not, but nothing to help him with the issue of systematic tabula rasa.

He wanted to die.

So he marched up to his father, quick and even strides, and he kicked the chair out from under him. Instinctively he ducked when the knife came flying at his head, and he blinked as it burrowed itself in the wall. His father stared at him, on his feet and furious beyond belief.

Levi had a choice now.

He could fight.

But he'd done that.

Time after time after time after time.

He had a bad habit of fighting when he was destined to fail.

Or… he could be a coward.

He swayed, blood dribbling in slow, warm rivulets from his knuckles to his fingertips.

"Make me forget," he pleaded.

And with a strange tilt of his head, his father smiled.

He'd never been more terrified in his entire life.

* * *

Armin came to, and he found that he'd stopped walking at one point and just decided to stand in one place for an inordinate period of time. His legs were shaking. He felt like he was going to vomit. He wished that he'd seen none of it, because he didn't want to know, he didn't want to care, he didn't like that he was given these flashes of information without a full picture. Whatever Levi was doing, he was not trying to tell Armin what was going on.

At least Armin had an idea of what Kenny was capable of.

He didn't know what it was, though. What drug could do that to a person? Just… make them forget? Over and over?

The sobbing was loud now. It was very close, and very loud, and Armin realized where he was. He leaned against a tree, and he saw carvings in the stark moonlight, names and dates and lovers long past. He exhaled shakily. Yes. He knew where he was.

Levi had taken him here?

"Do you want me to kill myself?" he whispered to the wind.

There was no reply. The world gleamed with clarity, and Armin realized that Levi was no longer with him.

So who was sobbing?

He took a few careful steps forward until the trees parted and he came upon the cliff that dropped into Titan's Maw. On the smooth rock, the grayish platform, stood a tiny girl. Armin stood and stared as the wind caught her by the hair and got tangled up in it. He saw a pair of sneakers discarded very neatly at the base of the rock.

Armin's heart constricted painfully at the sight of Historia Reiss peering over the edge of the cliff, her tiny body tipping precariously.

He couldn't do this.

"Historia!" he cried, his voice smashing through the air, a bullet colliding with metal, ricocheting in the silence.

She whirled around, her hair billowing about her pale, horrified face, and she gaped at him. And then, rapidly her face fell into an angry, twisted grimace.

"Oh," she exhaled into the wind, "of course it's you."

He didn't get it. He didn't get it at all. Levi had led him here, to Historia. Who… had been present when he'd been murdered… so, why? Levi clearly wasn't the type to forgive easily.

Something was wrong.

Where was Eren?

"Hey…" Armin held up his hands, edging toward her anxiously. She stared at him with empty eyes. "Hey. Okay. Listen…"

"If you're here to tell me," she whispered, "that I "don't have to do this", or— or that "there's so much life left to live" or "things will get better", just… don't. Okay? Don't do it."

"Okay," he said, his bare, achy toes brushing the cool surface of the rock. His hands were still up in the air. "I won't. But I'm surprised. Why? Why now?" He was stalling. Real badly. "Why this way?"

"I didn't just magically wake up this morning and decide I wanted to kill myself," she spat at him. "I… I… God! Leave me alone!"

"I'm not doing anything," he gasped, eying her feet. She was really close to the edge. His heart was beating very fast, and there was something in him that was screaming, something in his head that begged him to let her go and run the other way.

Something was wrong.

"You're trying to stop me!" She'd clearly been crying for a while. Her face was red and splotchy, pallid in some places, and her eyes were hollow, dark bruises sunken beneath them, and the insides rimmed bright red, glinting madly from the excess of tears that just wouldn't stop. "If… if you were smart…" Her voice was pitchy and thin. "If you were as smart as you think you are, you'd just let me die! Everyone would be so much better off…"

_Oh god_ , he thought, halting as he stared at her, thinking very fast. He'd had his bad days, of course, but nothing of this caliber. Historia was not even close to fucking around, and Armin felt guilty because he knew he'd only made it worse.

"It's a long drop," Armin whispered. He was terrified.

Her lips parted tremulously. She blinked at him, and she looked desperate.

The wind whistled between then, plucking the strings of flax from her scalp like shreds from cello bows. Armin watched her pale, dirty feet scrape at the rock as she raised herself on her toes, poised like a ballerina, and she tipped backwards.

He stretched his arms, already raised, out until he was able to throw them around her waist, and he stumbled as he caught her, her face buried in his chest and her body teetering on the edge. He was scared. He was so scared, and he stared into the great, yawning chasm that laid out before him, and he thought about how dark and familiar it all was, how starkly ugly and beautiful this place was, how he could just push her and everyone would think it was a suicide, and that'd be that.  _Historia_. History. Definition?

Doomed to repeat.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He was thankful she wasn't struggling. Perhaps she was too shocked that he'd managed to get her in time. He held her tight to him, tears burning his eyes, and he took a deep breath. The air tasted acidic.

"If you want to die, fine," he breathed. "But I'm going with you."

He was betting a lot on this girl's nonexistent heart.

There was nothing for a grand few moments, just Armin clutching her, waiting for the call, waiting with his life weighing on a scale.

She slumped against, him, and she screamed into his chest.

He took that as a no.

She allowed him to drag her at least a meter from the edge of the cliff before she completely broke down, her legs giving out and her sobs increasing in volume. Why had she wanted to die so badly? What had triggered this? He wanted to know, needed to know, but he couldn't know because he didn't want to hurt her any more than she'd been hurt already.

"Hey," he whispered as she clung to his sweatshirt, shuddering and gasping, never lifting her head. He began to pet her hair, thinking very hard about what Mikasa would do, and she lifted her eyes to him. He didn't smile, but instead tugged at his sweatshirt until he could sling it over his head. Carefully he set it over her, mindful of the head hole, and she stared at him with an open mouth and bloodshot eyes.

"You…" she choked, fresh tears spilling onto her cheeks.

"I get it," he whispered, bowing his head. "I know exactly how you're feeling. But I think…" He swallowed thickly, turning his eyes up toward the sky. His arms were very chilly now without his sweatshirt. "I think we've come a long way. We shouldn't throw that away now."

"Why are you talking about "we"," she mumbled, "when it's me who fucked up everything?"

He stared at her. He was sympathetic.

He felt the guilt, and he was starting to realize.

Something was wrong.

"You did not," he tried. She shot him a wide eyed glare, her laughter choking her as she threw her head back.

"You know, I think I'm fucked up," she gasped, "but then I look at you, and I think, "Wow! I must be a really mentally in check person!" Gee, Armin. Thanks a lot." She buried her face in her hands.

"I know," he whispered.

"Do you…?" She glanced up at him. Her eyes were glistening, but for once, she looked hopeful. "Do you really?"

"Yeah, I…" He closed his eyes, and he listened to his breath shudder. Where was Levi? Where was  _Eren_?

"I feel so guilty," she croaked, rocking back, her eyes darting wildly. "Oh god… oh, god, Armin, I just wanted to make it stop. I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of me."

He nodded.

Her fingers knotted in her pale hair, her lips mouthing words before she said them, her shoulders quaking as her eyes danced toward and away from his face.

"I tried," she croaked, "so many things, I tried… pills, and… and cutting, and hanging, but nothing… nothing works… Ymir locks up  _everything_  now…" She winced, and she covered her face in shame. "Oh… oh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I burned your garage, I didn't mean to, I don't even know what happened, I just... was suddenly there, and it was on fire, and I knew I did it, but I didn't mean to."

He was alarmed. He hadn't known it had been her for sure, though he'd suspected, because he felt that it  _could have_  been her. He nodded. He didn't tell her it was okay, but he combed the wet hair from her face, listening as she sniffled, steadily calming down.

"We can fix the garage," Armin said. "No one got hurt."

"Not yet…" she whispered.

His entire body coiled up, his muscles going stiff and his heart sinking low, low, low, until it hit rock bottom. He stared at her. She sniffed, wiping at her cheeks.

"You're going to tell Ymir," she whispered.

"I think I have to."

"Okay…" She sighed, and she slumped her forehead against his chest. "Okay… just… do me a favor."

"Sure," he said eagerly. He'd do anything to make her feel better.

"Kill me next time," she murmured.

"No way."

She laughed, a small, distant giggle into his chest. "I wish…" she breathed, "I wish… we could all just go back to that night…"

His heart was pounding in his ears. He didn't have to ask what night she was talking about. He knew. Oh, did he know.

Something was terribly wrong.

"Don't we all?" he sighed, closing his eyes. She'd settled down immensely, and he was glad to see her curling up like a child against him, her face half buried in his sweatshirt. Even though he was remarkably small, it swam on her frame and pooled beneath her.

"I'm such a terrible person," she whispered, turning her face toward the empty air only one small meter away. She watched it as though she were a child experiencing rain for the first time. She watched it, her lips parted, and in her expression there was only pain.

"To be honest, Historia," he said, rubbing her back gently. "You're really not."

She laughed in disbelief.

"Oh… but… I was  _glad_ …" she said dazedly. "I was glad when you killed Eren."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmm watcha say


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, now we're somewhat back to normal
> 
> well. almost.

**what should i have said?**

Replay.

A patter of pebbles shook the window of his mind, soft bullets delivering themselves with the unimpeded force of a thousand lies piling atop each other. The window cracked, a spider webbed blemish on the cool glass, and in the great black chasm of nightfall he saw himself, his small hands pallid and his spindly fingers cadaverous. The problem, he supposed, was that his mind had fractured that night.

Eren's beaming face glowed below.

"I want to show you something."

It was painful. It was cruel.

It was as though it had never happened at all.

"I found something in the woods. You love mysteries, don't you, Armin?"

_I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do!_

Something wasn't right.

"Then come with me."

Something wasn't right.

"Mikasa will meet us there."

Something wasn't right.

"It'll be just like when we were little!"

Something wasn't right!

 _Please_ , he thought,  _don't go into the woods_.

His fears did not make it from his mouth. He did not have the courage to speak up to Eren, to warn him, to beg him not to go.

Instead, he smiled dimly into the darkness, and Eren smiled back.

"Okay, Eren," he'd said.

This conversation played and replayed through his head like a broken record when he'd returned home near dawn, tracking mud through the house, standing at his window and staring at the milky drip on the horizon. He'd lost a sneaker. He supposed someone would find it in Titan's Maw and trace it back to him some how. That was fine. It was fine. He was fine.

He'd returned home in a daze, mud between his toes and blood beneath his fingernails, and he'd felt giddy and sick. Adrenaline had kicked through him and left him drained and dry. He settled on his bed, the scent of it all still clinging to him. Dirt. Mud. River clay. Sweat. Blood. It was all mingling inside his nostrils as he curled up on his soft, warm comforter, soft and warm, that was what he was supposed to feel, but everything just felt hard and cold, and he thought that was hilarious.

He turned his face into his pillow and muffled his laughter.

On the inside of his eyelids, Eren's face floated in a greenish pool, ghostly and gaping. Dark water flickered between his teeth. Blood clung to the surface of his skin, beads of red diluted by the strains of river water. On the inside of Armin's eyelids, Eren's snapped open, and his beautiful green eyes stared vacantly ahead for a moment, filmy and blind from the grasp of death.

An inhuman snarl left his lips as he reached for Armin, his icy fingers clawing and ripping until Armin's throat split open and his face was shredded to ribbons.

When he woke up again, pale light was filtering in through his window, and his eyelids were crusted shut. The stench of him forced him upright, and he ran his fingers through his grimy hair. There was dirt on the inside of his arms. He pulled, his fingers caught in the knotted strands, and he ripped out a great chunk in his dull horror. He flicked the broken hair away, and he held his hands up to the shimmery morning light.

His fingers were all black and red. His fingernails were beaten down, and he wriggled his joints in order to see the extent of his bloody cuticles. Sickness swept over him.

What had he  _done_?

"No," he choked, lurching to his feet. Mud cracked at his heels. "No, no, no, no, no…"

He ran his fingers through his hair, his mind a whirlwind of different thoughts, a replay of Eren's voice singing in his head, music of the sweetest kind, the sound of a heartbeat stuttering and screeching to a halt as thought a flaxen bow had sheered across a string incorrectly. He dug his fingers into his scalp, and his entire body ached as he sunk to his knees, the severity of his mistake hitting him hard.

There was mud everywhere.

There was blood everywhere.

Well, no, that wasn't necessarily true. Eren hadn't bled particularly much, really. Just enough, though. Just enough for his blood to get on Armin's skin, beneath Armin's nails, just enough to make Armin feel as though he'd never, ever be clean again.

So, yes. There was blood everywhere.

Armin dragged his hands down his face, his breaths short and shaky and hollow and heavy. He wasn't thinking straight. He wasn't thinking at all. If he opened his eyes, would Eren's face be floating before his, a ghost to haunt him for all eternity for what he'd done?

It would be exactly what Armin deserved.

He considered for a moment letting it all stay as it was. He went through the interrogation, allowing himself to be reprieved of the guilt as he saw himself behind bars, suffering happily for the crime he'd committed. He'd do it gladly.

But no, he couldn't do that.

He'd promised.

He'd promised…

A faint voice whispered in his ear.

"Just pretend none of this ever happened."

He lowered his dirt caked hands into his lap, and he stared at his bed, which was unkempt and muddy. No, no, this wouldn't do. He tilted his head. No, no, this wouldn't do.

He made careful haste of stripping his bed to the mattress. He quickly and quietly made his way into the laundry room, shoving the comforter and the sheets and the mattress cover and his shirt and sweatshirt and jeans, all of it mud stained, into the washing machine. He poured washing detergent over the stains, standing in the dark, frigid room in nothing but his boxers, dried mud licking up his arms and legs. He turned the machine on and listened to it rumble and groan. It was eating away his sins.

Next he grabbed a rag and a bucket. He drizzled soap into the pail of water, and he retraced his steps, scrubbing at the muddy footprints, observing the way the water made them into nothing but smears, and then finally smoothing them away. It was cathartic to clean up his mess. He bleached it for good measure. That scent— that heavy antiseptic scent— was so overpowering that it seemed to battle even the clinginess of death that was leaching from Armin's skin.

He dumped the water into the tub and threw the rag into the garbage bin. His head was pounding. His heart was thudding. He looked at himself in the mirror, and he saw a dead boy looking back. A zombie had crawled out of the grave, and he was emaciated and sickly sallow, mud curling up his forearms, licking up his legs, and his limp, waxy hair stuck plainly to his sunken features. He stood shakily, watching the corpse's chest rise and fall unevenly. Tears burned lines into his wane flesh. Shriveled lips parted, and it was like a terrible nightmare. It was a terrible nightmare, just a terrible nightmare.

Vomit clawed up his throat, and he let it fall into the sink, burning his esophagus and stinging his nostrils. Scents were mingling. Bleach and blood. Mud and muck. Pine needles and puke.

He puked and puked until his stomach felt empty of all by the knot of guilt that would never, ever go away.

He should have gone with Eren.

 _I should have gone with Eren_ , he thought, climbing into the shower and blinking as the scorching pressure of water licked the mud from his skin.  _Something's wrong here, something's terribly wrong_.

He scrubbed his arms and legs raw, scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until his skin was bright red and everything was burning, aching, and he scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until he'd convinced himself that he'd been too cowardly to accompany Eren into the woods.

He scrubbed Eren's blood from beneath his nails, and he leaned his head back into the steady beat of water.

He could just drown in it.

When he finished cleaning himself— of the vomit, of the vomit, of the vomit, he told his grandfather, he'd vomited all over his bed and all over the floor— he made his way to the couch and slept.

* * *

He woke up with a terrible headache. The kind that left the entire body weak and achy.

What?

What?

_What?_

What the hell had happened?

Oh, he felt awful, too awful to bear. He wanted to think logically, but there was no logic left, because the world had tipped and he'd been wrong.

He'd been so wrong.

There wasn't an easy explanation for it either, he just… he didn't know. His head hurt. His lungs hurt. How had he gotten in a bed? He'd only just been talking to Historia, only just a little while ago, when she'd said… when she'd…

 _I was glad when you killed Eren_.

When he'd killed Eren.

Yes, that's right.

That's right.

Armin had killed Eren.

How had he forgotten that?

Except it still didn't settle right with him. He didn't want to think about it, so the memories were dull and hazy, and he didn't want to think about it, so he could easily pretend it had never happened. Forget it had ever happened. Convince himself it had never happened.

He opened his eyes, and he winced. His room was bright. He wondered why that was.  _Was it all just a dream?_  This was a plea. He needed it. All just a dream. All just a terrible dream.

But he felt a tube poking uneasily at his arm, and he had a feeling that something had happened while he'd tucked himself away inside his head again.

"Hey. Hey! I think he's waking up!"

"What…? Oh."

He blinked profusely as his eyes adjusted to the light, and he blinked as Mikasa's face came swimming into view. It was such a relief to look at her. Even blearily, even with her hair in disarray and her eyes sunken and hollow and bruised from lack of sleep, even with her distant expression revealing everything and nothing.

He blinked. He couldn't process what was happening. Hadn't he been in the woods? Hadn't he been with Historia? How had he ended up in the hospital?

He wondered what else he'd forgotten about.

"What…" he uttered, his voice thick and weak. "What happened…?"

"Uh…" Jean glanced at Mikasa, who did not take her hollow eyes from Armin. "We were hoping you'd be able to tell us that."

"Huh?" Armin was so confused. He held his head gingerly, and then, struck by a wave of horror and a sense of déjà vu, he checked his forearms for carvings. He was relieved to see that there were no eyes digging into his flesh. Just spindly blue veins crawling beneath a thin white surface.

"Armin," Mikasa said very gently. "Do you remember what happened at all?"

How was he supposed to explain that he'd woken up in the woods after what Armin assumed was a touch and go possession? How was he supposed to tell them about Levi's memories, or lack there of, and how much a true monstrosity Kenny was? How was he supposed to explain Historia?

How was he supposed to deal with the fact that he had been the one to kill Eren?

Had he done it? Could he trust Historia's word?

Could he trust his own word?

No. On both accounts.

There was only one way to determine if it had all been an awful dream.

He would have to ask Mikasa. But Jean couldn't now, not until… not… until…

Armin wasn't sure if he wanted Jean to know at all.

"I remember falling asleep," he said softly. "I… I was doing some research… I found some old cassette tapes…"

"Yeah, we saw," Jean muttered. "Dude, your room was a disaster. Why'd you tear the all the ribbon out?"

"What?" Armin gasped, bolting upright. Mikasa stepped hurriedly to his side, but he held his hand up so she'd keep her distance. "What do you mean? The ribbon, the…?" His eyes widened.  _Levi, you asshole_. "The tapes are destroyed?"

"You didn't do it, huh?" Jean sighed, glancing up at the ceiling. "Yeah, Hange was right."

"Hange?"

"They were at the house, Armin," Mikasa told him gently. "When you…"

"Where were you last night?" Jean asked bluntly. Armin stared at him. He didn't know what to say.

"I…" Every fiber of his being was electrified, and he felt the undying need to lie. "I was home, wasn't… I?"

Jean stared at him for a long time. Then he pinched his nose, exhaling very sharply and murmuring under his breath. "Okay," he said. "Okay, Armin, I'm trying to be really, really patient here. So for the love of god, stop fucking lying, because if you lie to my face one more time, I'm going to punch you. I swear."

"Jean," Mikasa warned.

His words hit Armin hard. He felt as though he'd already been punched. There was a long, aching throb that would not disperse inside his throat. He took a deep, shaky breath, and he turned his eyes sharply to Mikasa. When he spoke, his words were venomous.

"I'll stop lying when she does."

She did not react. She didn't need to. Her eyes gave away all her pain.

It wasn't as satisfying as Armin had hoped, in his split second of vindictiveness. He wanted to close his eyes and go to sleep and forget this all had happened.

But he kept himself awake, because for all he knew that wish could come true.

"Armin," Jean said quietly, his eyes swiveling between Armin and Mikasa. "What do you mean?"

"I think," Mikasa said coldly, "that means we're done here."

Armin's heart sank, and he could not find it in himself to shout her name or plead with her to stay, stay, stay, and explain. But he'd struck a nerve, and he knew it. He felt that he'd done something terrible, and he wanted to beg for her forgiveness, but he felt that she wasn't as guiltless as he wanted her to be.

"What happened?" he asked them as Mikasa headed for the door. "Please, I really have no idea why I'm here. Honest!"

"You?" Mikasa did not turn to face him, but her voice was soft and vacant. "Honest?'

"Okay, Mikasa, now you're the one being a little harsh," Jean sighed. He glanced at Armin, and his eyes were dazed and sad. "Armin, you tried to kill yourself."

He let himself lie against the lumpy folds of the hospital mattress, and he listened to his door click open and closed. Mikasa had left. She'd left him. And he couldn't even blame her, because he felt the need to flee as well. He wished he could flee his own body and hide for eternity.

"Oh," he said blankly.

Jean stared at him. His expression suddenly contorted in rage, and he shook his head furiously. "You know what?" he breathed. "Whatever. Whatever, man, if you… if you really care so fucking little about how much people care about you, fine. Fine!"

"Jean," Armin whispered, feeling numb and bemused. "I didn't…"

"It doesn't matter. Whatever you have to say right now, it doesn't matter. What matters is that you lied. You said you wouldn't do it. You told me that you were okay, and I knew you weren't, but I thought, hey, give the guy a chance, he's smarter than you are!" Jean ran his fingers through his hair, his lips twisting into a snarl. "Fuck you, Armin. Don't you ever. Don't you ever fucking do that to me again."

"Are you really trying to make my apparent suicide attempt about you?" Armin croaked.

" _Apparent_?"

"Jean, I don't know what's going on!"

"You're full of shit." Jean whirled away. "I'll be back later. I have to go sort out some shit with Hange's ghost hunting team."

"No," Armin whispered, reaching out in horror as Jean drew closer to the door. "Don't…!" The door slammed. Armin sunk into his mattress, feeling dizzy and sick. "Don't leave me alone…"

Was this how suicide attempts were normally treated? He didn't know. He'd never actually gotten that bad. At least not until today.

"I didn't try to kill myself," he told the empty room. He fiddled with his intravenous drip, anxious and confused. "I didn't try to kill myself."

He expected Eren to appear. He expected Eren's snort to cut the tension, his voice sharp and irritated, "Well, duh! I'd hope not, Armin, holy fuck!" But Eren was not there. Armin stared into the gloom of the vacuous hospital room, and bit his tongue to keep from screaming. This was cruel. What had he done to deserve such awful things?

Oh, yeah. He killed Eren. Right. He kept forgetting.

He supposed he did deserve this empty life after all.

Everything in him was aching to call Eren's name. He sat in his bed, staring at the washed out white wall across from him, and he felt his skin crawl as his thoughts echoed off the empty space.  _Liar, liar_ , sung a tiny voice, the boy he'd once been, the small, shy, selfish child of the past. The song of vicious truths reverberated in a cacophony of sounds.  _Monster, monster_. The room was so big, so long and awkward, like a twisted hall, glass floors and glass ceilings that sloped to suit the horrid acoustics that served as a method of torture. The off white walls were bubbling, freckles of brown mildew seeping through the cracks, and he realized that time was rushing slow inside his head, and his heart was beating mightily, his breath stolen and his eyelids peeled back.  _Killer, killer_.

A nurse came in, and the illusion was abruptly shattered. He looked at her with hollow eyes, his mouth parting as she smiled a tight-lipped, genial smile, the kind that reminded him of the procession of hand-shakers he'd smiled and thanked genially, genially, genially like a good boy at his grandfather's funeral.

He wondered if anyone would show up to his once they found out what he'd done.

"Hello, Armin," she said gently. "I'm glad you're awake. Your friends were very worried about you."

"What happened to me?" he croaked, leaning forward with widening eyes. She stared at him, her mouth parting in alarm. "Please, please don't sugarcoat it, okay? I didn't try to kill myself, I…" He took a deep, shaky breath, and he held his head gingerly in one hand. "Oh god, please don't tell me I jumped…"

"Jumped?" The nurse sounded confused. "What on earth are you talking about? You tried to drown yourself, Armin, don't you remember?"

"Drown myself?" he echoed. What, in the river? What use was that when he could jump? No, no, wait, what was he even thinking? Why would he want to drown himself? "No, I don't remember that at all. When did that happen? Am I okay?"

"This morning," the nurse said softly, averting her eyes. "And yes, of course you'll be okay."

"Don't lie to me," he told her coolly. She looked at him, and he felt the need to laugh. He was such a hypocrite. "Why am I hooked up to an IV?"

"You had a very low blood count when you arrived," she said. "You're in good shape, though. However, the doctor does want to speak with you about your eating habits and depression." Her voice was growing distant. He tuned in and out, blinking rapidly and glancing away, hoping she didn't notice how inattentive he was. He felt guilty for it, but he simultaneously could not care less. "— your dosage, but only until this spell passes. You must take your medication this time, Armin. This isn't a joke or a game, this is your life. You almost died today because you neglected your anti-depressants."

"They just make me feel worse, though," he whispered, feeling like a small child being scolded. He didn't get it. He'd told her he didn't remember trying to kill himself, but she just… didn't care. Wasn't that an important detail? If he told her he'd killed Eren and forgotten, would she notice?

"We'll prescribe you a different kind," the nurse said. "We'll keep trying until we find something that works."

 _Nothing is going to work,_  Armin thought _, because I didn't try to kill myself_.

He nodded, rubbing his eyes, her words muffled in his ears, cotton clinging to his eardrums and making her voice bounce away in the strangest, faintest, most raucous echoes… He rubbed his ears, and he nodded, her words muffled, and he rubbed his forehead, nodding, his eyelids drooping over his eyes, and her words were muffled as she told him such and such about hemoglobin and red blood cells and the amount of water that had been in his lungs. Scraps of her words slithered through the muffled wall of water that seemed to make his surrounding soundproof. He bit his tongue, and he realized there was actually water clogging his ears.

He nodded. "Yes," he said. "I understand."

 _I don't understand you, Armin_.

He drew his hands down his face as she left, dragging his stubby nails against his skin, wishing to draw blood, but knowing he wouldn't. This was hard. This was difficult. This was awful. He was awful. How could he have done this? How could any of this have happened?

"I'm sorry," he mumbled to the empty room, to the morphing nightmare of a room, with one hospital bed stacked on top of another, with blood and mud soaking through the fibers of the pure white sheets. His imagination was getting the better of him. But this was how he felt. Confined and abandoned. His mind was far away, and he could not process what had happened to him.

What had happened to Historia?

He sat up straighter, horror passing over him and asphyxiating him. Oh. Oh no. What if she was in Titan's Maw? What if he'd failed to save her? What if… what if it was his fault?

What if he'd tried to kill himself because the guilt of killing two people was just two much?

He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, and it hurt so badly, sending white blots exploding through his vision. He wanted to gouge them out.

His voice was caught in his throat. "Eren," he whispered, testing the name, feeling uneasy and frightened. He did not want to see Eren. He was terrified at the thought, honestly. But he'd been lying for so long, and he didn't know what else to do. Eren's face might be a comfort.

Armin rested his head back on a pillow, and he listened to the deafening silence, the din of its smashing into his skull. He was sick on guilt and grief. What had happened? What had  _happened_?

He closed his eyes. He could not sleep, or move, because the image of Eren's ghostly face, blood slick and gauzy eyed, pallid and wet, it was floating inside his head and it would not go away. Armin scratched at his knuckles. He scratched and scratched and scratched. He could not lie anymore, but he could not fathom telling the truth, for he was still half in the dark about it.

The room grew overwhelmingly cold, a familiar sensation of something off in the air, spider webs clinging to his cheeks and hair and tickling his nose and tangling around him before tearing itself apart and dispersing. His eyes snapped open.

"Eren!" he gasped, too eager and too frightened.

At the foot of his hospital bed, a dark haired man stood. He was short, and he was pale, and he was generally unpleasant to look upon. Armin sank into his bed, and he truly thought he might puke.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Levi said flatly.

"Get away from me," Armin said in an equally flat tone. His fingers bunching against his thin white sheets, and he glanced around him, fearful and panicked. "Don't come any closer, or… or I'll scream!"

Levi squinted at him. "Calm down," he said. "I didn't come here to hurt you. Again."

"Again?"

Levi rolled his eyes, and he shrugged. "I heard you calling for Eren," he said, as though it were simple.

"How did you hear that?" Armin was trying to make sense of the situation. "How can you touch things and he can't? Why are you a little kid sometimes, and other times you're an adult? Are all ghosts like you two? Like, you can just control your appearance, or whatever? Why can I see you guys and other people can't? Why did you—?"

"Okay, first of all," Levi cut in, holding up a hand as he turned his face away irritably, "shut the fuck up." Armin's mouth snapped closed. Levi stood for a moment, staring at the wall, and he sighed. "Okay. Good. One, I was listening. Two, I'm an older ghost than Eren, and I'm blood-tied to a living spirit, so I'm more powerful than your run of the mill Casper. Three, I genuinely can't answer that. I'd show you, but I'm exhausted from possessing you right now. Four, no, every ghost is different, just like every person is different. Sometimes we have control over what we look like. Like when I scared you, when I was covered in blood. I did that so you'd get the fuck out of the apartment, but you're more stubborn than I anticipated so, whatever. Five, ghosts can be seen depending on what— or who— they're haunting. I haunt a lot of different things and places. Eren… doesn't."

"Where is he?" Armin bit his lip, feeling a knot clench inside his stomach at the thought of seeing Eren's bloody face again. He might actually, legitimately puke.

"Sleeping." Levi drummed his fingers against the footboard of the hospital bed, his eyes dull and sunken. Armin recalled the memories he'd been given. Levi had looked like this even while living. That was sad.

"Sleeping. What the hell does that mean?"

"Eren's not powerful enough to keep up appearances just for your comfort, kid," Levi said coldly. "Hate to break it to you, but if he uses up too much of his energy playing pretend like he's a real live boy, he'll cease to exist."

Armin felt as though he'd been backhanded again. But this time he ached for that blunt feeling of his cheek bruising on contact, imaginary blood running hot down his throat. He took a deep breath.

"Why didn't he tell me that?" he whispered.

"How the fuck should I know?" Levi's brow furrowed. "Do you honestly think we chat? Like we're buddies, or something?"

"Uh…" Armin flushed, his eyes widening. "To be honest? Yeah?"

"Eren's been asleep for like, seven years, or whatever. We don't really have time to talk to each other. I'll do him the occasional favor, if he's really desperate, but he generally isn't around much. When he's not with you, he's usually sleeping."

"Do you ever sleep?" Armin asked curiously.

"No."

"Why?" He leaned forward, watching the way the man's shoulders hunched. He was avoiding looking at Armin. He had the demeanor of a child who didn't know how to carry on conversations while maintaining eye contact.

"You don't need to know every fucking detail about me."

"No," he agreed, smiling at the man brightly, the smile feeling fake and poisonous. "But you showed me a hell of a lot of stuff about you before, so I don't see why you should be shy now."

Levi turned his cold, empty eyes toward Armin, and he lowered his chin as he glowered. "You know what?" he hissed. "I wish I'd actually killed you."

Armin couldn't breathe for a moment. Levi was gone.

His mind was already working to piece together everything Levi had said. Eren was sleeping. Seven years of sleep… except he had spoken once as though he'd talked to Mikasa before… and there was also the question of Mikasa knowing the truth about his death. Also, Armin suspected that it had been Levi who had put Eren's note in the wall. The note had definitely been Eren's handwriting, but it seemed like Levi could come and go wherever he liked and touch just about anything. It was almost as though he wasn't dead at all.

When the door opened, he watched eagerly, expecting Mikasa or Jean or Historia or Annie or Sasha and Connie or, well, anyone, really. Instead, he was stunned to see Grisha Jaeger's face, his lips tight and his eyes dull behind his glasses. He had a file in his hands, and Armin swallowed thickly, sinking low into his sheets. Facing this man was a lot harder now that Armin knew who had killed Eren.

 _What am I going to do?_  he thought dazedly.

"Dr. Jaeger," he croaked.

"Armin," he said quietly, pulling up a chair. The room was so stifling, and Armin wanted to cry. "I heard what happened."

"Did they tell you that I don't have any actual memory of trying to kill myself?" he snapped. "Because I don't remember it at all!"

"I was informed," he said quietly. He looked at Armin with a long, sad gaze. It made him shift in discomfort. "It's why I'm here, actually. Armin…" He sighed, and he adjusted his glasses in a very professional manner. "I have reason to believe you are suffering from the same affliction that plagued Eren for years."

"What?" Armin had to think for a moment. "You mean… the night terrors?"

"If you want to call them that." Dr. Jaeger sighed, and he closed his eyes. "Oh. Where to begin… well, Armin, I suppose you've been losing sleep. Waking up in strange places. Feeling strange and weak, as though something sucked the energy right out of you?"

"What… are you saying?" He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about Eren or Levi or anyone. He just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. "Is this a medical problem?"

"No, Armin." Dr. Jaeger folded his hands in his lap, and Armin's blood ran frigid as he realized that this man knew so much more than he'd initially let on.

"So you know, then," Armin whispered. "About…"

"About the ghost, yes."

Armin pressed his hands against his lips, staring vacantly ahead of him to keep from screaming. The ghost. Not Eren. The ghost.  _Not_  Eren. Okay. Okay, it was okay. It was going to be okay.

What a terrible lie.

"I don't understand," he said softly. "The… ghost. But… Eren…"

"I don't really understand it," Dr. Jaeger sighed. "But I believe Eren found a relic of some kind in our basement… a locket, I think, that I'd gotten recently from a genial transaction. He used to snoop around the basement all the time, and I warned him not to, but he was never one to listen. After he took the locket, things began to change."

"What kinds of things?" Armin asked distantly.

"Eren acted as he normally did in the day time, but sometimes…" Dr. Jaeger looked down, and he wrung her his hands, exhaling sharply. "You must bear with me, Armin. I've tried to forget about this."

"It's okay…"

"Sometimes I'd find him scratching at the walls, or huddled in his closet, completely… completely in a daze, and confused when he came to. He'd look at me strangely and ask me what I was doing, as though I was the odd one. It scared me, and I knew I couldn't write it off as a child's imagination. I knew there was something wrong."

"So… what was it?"

"That's just it," Dr. Jaeger said. "There was nothing wrong with him. I took him to the best psychologists I know, and all of them told me that he was an exceptionally bright, passionate boy, and that I had nothing to worry about. One told me that his anger could reach extremity, but so long as I kept a watchful eye and reprimanded him when he went to far, it was nothing to worry about. So I could not fathom it. What was wrong with my son?"

"He had meds, though."

"Yes, he did…" The space between them was filled with years and years of curtains being slung over their thoughts and feelings, Armin and Eren letting lies build like dusty gray bridges for years and years. They were finally too heavy and too unstable to stand upright, and he felt the earth tremble as they crumbled and cracked. "But that was later. He was older then, and by that time the odd little spells had grown into something worse. Graver."

"Oh?" Armin had to pretend that he wasn't feeling like someone had told him the world was about to end.

"Initially it was really just a short period of time where he'd go into a trance, not speaking or reacting." Dr. Jaeger's voice was firm and even, but he looked stricken. Armin could tell that this was difficult for him. "And then, as he got older, it began to get… violent. When Eren started waking up in the middle of the night screaming, I knew that there was more to it, that there had to be more. It just kept evolving, one horror after another."

"Nothing like that has ever happened to me, and I don't know of any locket," he objected. "I don't understand what you're point is."

"He went from periodic dazes to waking up screaming to insomnia to coming home covered in dirt in the middle of the night and standing in the doorway of my and Carla's room until we woke up, and then to screaming, to digging holes in our yard in the middle of the night, and then to crying and begging us to let him keep digging when we stopped him, and then to…" Grisha sighed. "Well, by that point I'd found the locket. I tried to take it from him, but he hid it somewhere in his room. I still don't know where it is— he never wore it, so I'm certain it's still in there. When he was about thirteen, he tried to hang himself."

"What?" Armin asked in a soft, small voice. "Wha… no. No, Eren wouldn't…"

"He wouldn't, no." Dr. Jaeger stared into his eyes. Armin shuddered. He was beginning to understand. "I caught him, pulled him down, and when he woke up he told me his throat hurt and asked me if he could stay home from school. He had no idea what had happened."

"Oh," Armin whispered.

"We got him medication, and he took it, though he didn't really know or understand what it was for. I think that might be why he forgot to take it so often, he… just genuinely did not understand why it was a necessity. I saw him with the locket a few times. Once I caught him throwing it against a wall, picking it up, and doing it again. I tried to take it away from him then, but he ran out of the house with it. And then he hid it. And when I asked about it, he'd just give me that innocent, confused little pout, and he'd say, "What locket?" Oh, I thought he was being smart with me, but no. No, I realize now that was all wrong. He didn't know what was happening to him, just as you have no idea what's happening to you."

"But none of that other stuff ever happened to me," Armin gasped. He wasn't sure what Dr. Jaeger was implicating. He knew that his own situation was more than likely the result of some possession or another, but Eren? Eren hadn't been involved with any of this!

… Right?

This was all so confusing.

"Armin, that locket…" Dr. Jaeger shifted, looking awkward and ashamed. "It had something in it. A small shard of a human femur."

Armin sat, trying to digest this information and all its connotations. He found himself leaning away in horror. Nausea enveloped him like a swarm of wasps puncturing his insides.

"Let me explain," Dr. Jaeger said hurriedly.

"Please get out," Armin whispered, his eyes wide and his voice shaky. "Please."

"I had no idea at the time what that meant, Armin," Dr. Jaeger explained, his eyes wide. "Honestly, I was given the locket under the pretense that it was just an antique locket. I had no idea there was a bone inside."

"I don't know what you want me to say, Dr. Jaeger." Armin stared at his hands, at the raw, scarred flesh of his knuckles. Nausea was crippling him. "I didn't know about that locket until now. I don't have it, if that's what you're implying."

"No?" Dr. Jaeger sighed. "Oh, very well. But, Armin, I do think you are facing something similar to Eren. I never told Carla, but from what I observed… Eren seemed positively  _haunted_. Perhaps even possessed. I don't know where the bone came from, or whose it was, but I'm begging you to believe me. I think you are in genuine danger. It took years and years for Eren to develop suicidal tendencies. I suspect this has only been happening to you for a short time."

Armin's eyes narrowed. He watched Dr. Jaeger with wary eyes, and finally he shifted upright, raising his chin and deciding to speak in a level tone. "Dr. Jaeger, how much do you know?"

"Excuse me?" He seemed taken aback.

"You are not telling me the entire story," Armin told him curtly. "You say that Eren stole a locket of yours, that it was haunted, and that someone gave it to you. But why would anyone give you a haunted locket? Who would do that?" Armin already knew. "You say this happened for years and you had no idea what it was, so how do you know now without the locket in question? And why do you assume that I am suffering under the same affliction?"

Dr. Jaeger's jaw tightened. Armin glowered at him, and he exhaled sharply through his nose.

"I think I know," he continued brightly, a falsely cheery tone. "You gave Eren that locket, didn't you? It was a gift from Kenny Ackerman, or someone equally awful, and you gave it to Eren without thinking. You were given that locket because someone knew it was haunted." He was beginning to piece things together in his head. Now that he knew, now that he knew… but it was difficult to remember so many things. Had Eren been possessed? Had Armin? Had Mikasa? Had Historia?

Had all of them been possessed that night?

Was that even possible?

"Armin—!" Dr. Jaeger began, hasty to defend himself.

"No," Armin snapped. "Let me finish. You blamed me for too long, and now I need to figure this out."  _You rightfully blamed me_ , Armin thought, shooting the man a chilly glare.  _But that doesn't mean you're not at fault here too. Eren needed help, and you didn't try at all_. "You might not have known what was in the locket when you gave it to Eren. Or, maybe you did. Maybe you wanted this to happen."

"Why on earth would I—?" Dr. Jaeger's voice was pitchy and thin.

"Why on earth did you never report Kenny Ackerman for the abusive scumbag that he is?" Armin snapped. "Mikasa could have died in that house. You know what, Dr. Jaeger? I don't think you're warning me. You're grilling me for how much I know."

The man clapped his mouth shut, and as he schooled his features, Armin felt as though he'd hit bullseye.

"But I don't know anything," he continued in a lofty voice, "that's the horrible truth. I have no idea what happened to Eren. Maybe he jumped. You said he was suicidal, right? Or something was making him suicidal. But that doesn't explain why a body was never found. So, Dr. Jaeger, what do you think? Am I next?" Armin smiled at the man, his eyes large and excited, and he saw him lean back in discomfort.

"I'm not sure what you're saying, Armin," Dr, Jaeger said quietly.

"Welcome to my world," he retorted. "Get out. Thank you for your warning, but if I'm being haunted or possessed like you assume Eren was, there's probably no hope left for me, is there?"

Dr. Jaeger stared at him through his thick glasses, and his green eyes were sad and dim. He looked a bit like Eren then, which was jarring. He stood, nodding slowly, as though to reassure Armin that he was obeying his demands. As he walked toward the door, he turned to Armin, and smiled in defeat.

"You were nearly correct, Armin, but you got one detail a little askew," he admitted. "I stole the locket."

He removed himself from the room. When he was gone, Armin decidedly vomited into the rubbish bin at his bedside. He let the disgust wash over him, because this world suddenly made no sense. He wiped his mouth, heaving and crying, and he smiled vacantly at the hazy white walls.

He'd been possessed.

And so had Eren before he'd died, if he could take Dr. Jaeger's word for it.

Armin tore the tube from his arm, plucking his way out of his hospital bed and finding his clothes folded on a chair. He understood very little about these new revelations, but his motivations had not changed. He was determined to find out what really had happened to Eren. If that landed him in jail, so be it.

He got into some arguments at the desk, but he managed to check himself out and that was a relief. As he was walking down the street, he felt dizzy and the sky seemed to be morphing, like rippling water, and he smiled at it distantly. He hated this. But at least he wasn't deluding himself anymore.

He called Ymir as he sat down near the bank of the river, washing it gush and roar. The sun was already setting, bruising the grayish clouds and roasting them in some spots. He pressed his phone to his ear, wondering about the odd, vacuous feeling in the pit of his belly, like someone had scooped out his guts and left him with nothing but a wobbly body and a foggy head.

" _Yo_ ," Ymir's voice floated into his ears. He opened his mouth to speak, to blurt everything, but she continued on to his dismay. " _It's Ymir. I'm busy. Leave a message if it's important. Okay. Bye_."

"Fuck," Armin hissed, clamping his fingers against his scalp and dragging them down through his hair, ripping out pale strands in frustration. "Fuck…"

He hung up before the beep.

He needed to know if Historia was okay. He needed to know that she hadn't shared Eren's fate.

As he retraced his steps, he felt sicker and sicker, and he was terrified of himself and everything around him. No one and nothing could be trusted. Armin didn't know the extent of his involvement in Eren's death yet. He had trouble remembering, beyond the terror of covering it up and burying it under lie after lie until he forgot.

The air was crisp and the forest was dim. Don't go into the woods! What a fucking joke. He laughed a little, because he feared every shadow, every swaying branch. He feared even the sound of his own shaky breath. The ambience was like something had clawed into him and ripped his thoughts and voice and even his very soul from him. He was a puppet. A marionette strung up and dancing through an act.

"Historia!" he called.

He kept going as his voice echoed in the great labyrinth of skeletal trees. His heart was singing the vibrations of threads and cables, and that only made him dizzier, sicker, hazier. The forest felt less real somehow, as though this was a dream and he'd wake up in the shed again.

As he came upon the cliff, he saw the glint of something in the dying light, something gleaming on the ground amongst the thick cover of leaves, and he moved closer anxiously, feeling that he was being watched, feeling that he was being hunted.

He knelt down, observing the smooth surface of the blade and the odd eyes that glowered at the hilt, and he picked up the dagger cautiously. There were damp clots of dirt clinging to the smooth metal edge. It came off easily with a swipe of his thumb, and he sat in the cool shade, wet leaves cushioning his knees and ankles. It must have rained between last night, the gaping hole in his memory where he'd almost killed himself, and leaving the hospital.

He thought about what Dr. Jaeger had said. He'd given Eren a locket with a bone in it, and that had caused Eren to behave erratically. So… had Eren been possessed? Or had it been something else? And what about Armin? Had last night been a result of Levi's possession, or was he really losing his mind?

 _This was what killed_   _Levi,_  he thought, thumbing the creases in the eyes of the hilt, where brownish stains marked where blood had escaped some hasty cleaning.  _This was in my pocket when he possessed me. Not when I tried to kill myself, though. So… maybe this is the reason why… but maybe it's not…_

He bit his lip as the forest grew darker and darker. It was entirely possible that Levi had possessed him and tried to kill him. He'd tried to kill Mikasa numerous times. Maybe Armin was a target now. Maybe…

"Armin?"

He stiffened, staring at the dagger in his hands and wishing he could just plunge it into his heart and be done with it. He almost wished he'd succeeded in killing himself. It'd be less painful than this.

"Armin, what are you doing here?" Eren's voice was the same as always, striking and soft and filled with a clashing mixture of agitation and concern. It bled inside Armin's ears, and it made him think of symphonies, how strings and percussion seemed to forever be humming and thrumming and drumming against his brain.

He turned to face Eren, twisting in place with his hand falling to catch the forest floor, supporting him meagerly and sinking into the moist dirt, crushing leaves under his weight. Eren looked different in the darkness, somehow. He was brighter, like his waxy skin was reflecting rays of sunlight, as radiant as the surface of the moon. He seemed bioluminescent, like a fairy ring or a swarm of fireflies. Even the blood on his cheek seemed to glow, crimson and brilliant, the sight of the evening sky as the sun dipped low and splashed the sky with a deep red hue.

Armin held up the knife. He couldn't speak.

Eren squinted at it. His lips twisted in irritation. "You haven't brought that back yet?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest. "I don't want to play conscience, you know, but someone probably should since you clearly lost yours somewhere."

Armin turned his eyes from Eren's face to the smooth gray rock that had served as the stage for a great many scenes in his sad puppet life. It was where he'd stopped Historia from jumping. Where he'd seen Eren's ghost for the first time. Where Eren had… where Armin had…

"Eren, if I jumped," Armin said softly, his eyes widening as he continued to stare at the cliff, the stunning drop, the sweet, drumming call of fate, "would you stop me?" He turned his eyes to Eren's stunned face, watching lines of fury capture his cadaverous features. " _Could_ you stop me?"

"Shut up," Eren snapped. "Don't even fucking joke, okay? I'll kill you myself if you keep talking like that."

"Then do it."

"That was an exaggeration, asshole!" Eren looked really, truly angry. "Go home, okay? I told you to stay out of the woods!"

"Why?" Armin stood up shakily, smiling dimly, his eyes welling up with tears. "Why were you so insistent that I stay away from here, Eren? Do you even know?" Armin stepped forward, holding the dagger tight in his fist. Part of him wanted to stab Eren between the eyes and rid himself of the guilt forever. But that would do nothing but give him more grief. "Tell me how you died, Eren."

"I don't remember."

Armin stared at him, swaying a few meters, a meter, a few centimeters from him. Eren was beautiful, even in death, even with blood pooling into the creases of his sickening pale flesh. Armin had to remind himself that it was his fault. That the warm brown color had faded away because of his own ignorance.

The tears did not fall, but he wished they would, because they made his throat hurt terribly. He smiled at Eren, and he shook his head in disbelief. Eren stared, his jaw setting, and he closed his eyes.

"It's dangerous here, Armin," he said. "Go home."

"You're a liar," Armin laughed, pressing his fingers to his lips to stifle it. Eren looked vaguely horrified, and certainly pissed. "Oh my god, you… you fucking lied! The entire time! You knew it from the very fucking start, and you let me think…" He threw his head back, his laughter echoing against the slender trees, the rush of water somewhere below them the only answer.

"Armin…" Eren said, holding his hands up. He looked as though he wanted to reach out, as though he wanted to touch Armin, hold his shoulders or his cheeks, but he knew he couldn't. That made Armin sick to his stomach, because the thought of Eren touching him was painful, and he knew he didn't deserve it.

He turned away and tried to get a hold of himself. He pocketed the knife, running his fingers through his hair and taking great gulps of breaths, tears burning the edges of his vision. He paced back and forth for a few minutes, no more words exchanged between him and Eren. He didn't know what to do.

Finally he walked to the edge of the cliff, and he sat down, throwing his legs over the side and swinging them idly. It felt nice. Precarious and freeing, like he could end it all but he was too cowardly to let himself go. The breeze seemed to hiss and snarl as Eren appeared beside him, sitting very close, his knees practically passing through Armin's, and his bold green eyes seemed to stare small cylindrical burns into Armin's cheeks.

He watched Eren's fingers twitch toward his, cold and smooth and barely there as they managed to lock somehow inside his hand. Armin's heart was beating very hard, and he reminded himself that Eren had held his hand countless times before. But it felt different this time. Maybe it was because he was dead and using up his energy just to give Armin some semblance of affection.

 _I love you_ , Armin swallowed down, tears flooding his cheeks.

"I killed you," he said instead, his voice drifting sadly and falling off the cliff when the air resistance finally gave way to gravity. He watched Eren's hand clench, a surprising amount of pressure delivered against his bones.

It was so quiet. His stomach was knotted up. He couldn't think or breathe, and it was hard to accept that this was true, that seven years ago Armin had pushed Eren off this very same cliff and watched him fall into the chasm below. Death had never seemed so viciously final as it was in this moment, with a dead boy gripping his hand, and the truth unraveling with every lingering second.

"I killed you," Armin repeated, breathless and close to sobbing. "I killed you right here, seven years ago, I did it, so tell me that you hate me."

"I don't hate you," Eren said.

"But  _why_?" Armin couldn't bear to look him in the face. "You knew it from the start. You lied and lied to protect me from myself. How could you possibly forgive me, Eren?"

"I can't," Eren sighed. Armin went rigid in shock, his eyes growing wide. Eren went on quickly, holding his hand tightly, his soft, cold, corporeal thumb gliding over Armin's knuckled. "I can't because I never blamed you. I… I was mad at you for forgetting, because I thought you were just pretending, but I realized you weren't. That you made yourself forget. And that's okay. I wish you'd forget again. I want you to forget everything about it. Armin, what happened was never your fault."

"I pushed you," Armin whispered, wiping at his cheeks furiously. "How the hell is that not my fault?"

"You clearly don't remember everything." The feeling of Eren's thumb, cold and barely there, tracing the contours of Armin's hand was immensely comforting. It made his tears fall faster, and he smiled in spite of himself. "It's okay, Armin. You were right, I did lie to you. I kept lying, because I was scared of what you'd remember. I don't want you to think I hate you, okay? I really don't. I just…" Eren groaned. "I was so relieved when I figured out you didn't remember. It meant that there was nothing awkward between us. It was just like it was before I died. But now…"

"Eren, please," Armin gasped, finally looking into eyes. They were bright and tearful and angry. Guilt sunk through his chest and into his gut. "Tell me what I'm supposed to do!"

"I don't know," he replied, his eyes widening in alarm. "You're the one with the answers, Armin. I can't help you."

"I killed you…" Armin smiled at him tremulously. "Shouldn't I pay for that?"

"No!" Eren's voice was sharp and angry. "Absolutely not! You're not going to jail for me, okay, that's fucking stupid!"

"Then maybe you shouldn't have lied to me," Armin whispered, prying his hand from Eren's and standing up. "If I'd known that I was the one who killed you, I never would have broadcasted my investigation of your disappearance."

Eren's mouth dropped open. He flickered, disappearing for a few moments before reappearing behind Armin. "I'm sorry."

He sounded weak and looked weaker, for he was hardly opaque, and he seemed to glow more than he stood. He was a hazy, flickering figure in a dim, grayish twilight, and Armin wondered how much energy it had taken just to make his hand corporeal enough to hold.

"Don't apologize," Armin whispered. "You did nothing wrong."

Eren's green eyes shined like great beacons in the growing darkness.

"You need to know what happened," Eren said, flickering so violently that the sight of him hurt Armin's eyes. "Don't do anything crazy, okay? Just… let me rest… a little more, and then… and then me and Mikasa, we'll tell you everything, we'll… we'll make this right, Armin."

"I think it's too late to make things right, Eren," Armin said, watching as he gaped. Eren's visage broke apart, and he disappeared entirely.

Armin was left with a vacuous silence, and the ghost of Eren's fingers massaging his knuckles.


	14. Chapter 14

**the forgotten word**

"What?"

Historia stared at him. In the darkness, she looked divine. His head and his heart were thrumming in time with one another as the world screeched to a shuddering halt. Historia Reiss had let something slip that she shouldn't have. The well-kept secret was out. And he was crumbling under the weight of it.

"So you really didn't know…" Historia sighed, wiping her cheeks and pushing away from him. She shot him a chilly glare. "You're pathetic."

"I…" He was shaking. The world was so cold, and he was shaking so badly, and his poor heart was about to explode. He imagined it, the bursting of the blood vessels, the shreds of stringy muscle, hanging veins, the pulp left behind and the shrapnel of bones. He felt sick.

She sat on the rock, leaning back on her hands, tears still glinting in her eyes. His red sweatshirt swam on her. The clarity of the night disappeared with a vague mist, a faint fog rising up from the chasm below them and rustling through the trees.

"It's called motivated forgetting," she told him. He sat in shock. Motivated…? No, no, this wasn't right. "Basically? You couldn't bear the idea that you killed Eren. So you made yourself forget it happened."

"I didn't kill Eren!" Armin gasped, leaning forward as she leaned back. She scowled at him.

"Armin, I was there," she said, her voice soft and small. "I saw the whole thing. You pushed Eren over the edge."

"I'd never do that!" Armin wanted to jump to his feet and run, but his legs felt heavy and gelatinous.

"Well, you did." Historia sniffed. He sat, staring at her, and he couldn't handle it. He could not imagine that he'd do what she said he'd done. "What happened was too traumatizing for you. So you made yourself forget about it. You suppressed those memories."

"But…"  _I killed Eren_ , he thought, his eyes turning toward the cliff beside them. Denying it felt useless. Because part of him— even from the very beginning— had known this fact to be a truth. And yet here he was, crying over this blow, crying because Eren was dead and he knew that it was his fault. He wanted to laugh at how useless he was. Eren's killer had been right in front of him the entire time!

"I didn't mean for it to come out like this," she whispered, sounding and looking very earnest. "I'm sorry, Armin."

He closed his eyes. What use were her apologies now? He was deep in a pit of his own making. He'd dug his own grave with his ignorance. The mist was blinding him now, but he realized he'd been blinded for a long, long time, so what did it matter? He smiled, feeling nauseous, and he kept smiling because there was nothing else he could do.

"Oh," he whispered, a shaky breath leaving him.

She was still staring at him when he opened his eyes. She looked worse for wear, pale and teary eyed, gaunt and sad. He didn't know what they were going to do. They were both thoroughly fucked.

"Oh," she echoed him.

They continued to stare at one another. The sun was pooling on the edge of the horizon. He took a deep breath.  _I killed Eren. I killed Eren! It was me the whole time!_  He didn't want to think about it, but if he didn't think about it, he might forget again. Thinking was just too damn hard. He wished he could stop thinking all together, because suddenly… suddenly…

Everything was happening at once.

_I Killed Eren. I Killed Eren._

_but i didn't mean to!_

_But I Killed Eren._

_stop. stop, stop, stop, stop, stop! it doesn't matter, it's over, it's done!_

_But I Killed Him!_

He pressed his hands to his lips, smiling as the thoughts flooded his mind, tangling together, words and words and words, the vicious words that fed him lies and truths, and he could not deal with the simultaneous explosions of thoughts that blew through his brain. He wanted to tear out a great chunk of his frontal lobe, if not just to make it all stop.

 _Just pretend none of this ever happened_.

He ran his fingers through his hair, and he laughed shakily. "Oh," he gasped, "oh, oh my god, oh my god…"

"Armin…"

"Please," he blurted, holding hands up to stop her from speaking. "Please, Historia, just shut up. I can't think. I can't think right now."

She clamped her mouth shut. Everything was shutting down, and he felt like he needed to escape. From the lies. From the truths. From his own mediocrity. He felt trapped inside his own body, a weight on his chest, pinning him in place as his soul rattled within him.

He didn't want this. He didn't want to be this person anymore, the liar, the killer, the monster.

He didn't know who he was anymore.

He was crossing off suspects in his head.

No. No. No. No.

Yes.

Suspect Five. Armin Arlert.

Culprit? Armin Arlert.

It was really funny, actually, just really fucking funny, because he'd really, really known all along, somehow, subconsciously, but he just ignored that inkling because it hadn't made sense to him. It still didn't make sense to him. Why would he kill Eren? What was his motive?

He stood up, swaying and chuckling.

Historia just watched him. And in his sudden wave of madness, he left her there. He turned from her and walked away. His bare feet scraped against the knots of twigs and roots and leaves, fog floating around him and leaving him lost to where he was or what he was doing, but it felt nice to be lost, and he was fine with it. If he just fell down in a ditch somewhere, that would be okay. He would be okay with lying down in the dirt and letting himself rot away.

The sun burst through the clouds, and he squinted up at it. He supposed this was how Levi had felt all the time. Confused and lost and willing to do anything to make the empty ache in his chest go away. He'd forget all over again if that meant he could just stop thinking all together.

He was questioning his very existence now, it seemed. He was twenty one years old, unemployed, lost and alone, and he was recalling the very fact of his own unraveling. He'd killed Eren, and that had left him broken inside. He knew that now. The depression, the self-loathing, the mood swings, they were all because he was suppressing a memory that made him burst apart in blinding madness. He was sick on his own incompetence, his own divine uselessness.

His life was a mess.

But at least he still had a life.

He'd robbed that from Eren.

The morning songs began to play, all the twangs and thrums, the sweet chirp of distant birds and rumble of trucks against the road. He rubbed his eyes, his feet sinking into the dirt, and finally he found himself walking on pavement, leaving the skeletal trees and the rolling fog behind him. Songs still hummed along with him, the screech of cello bows melting into the scraping of his bare feet against cold asphalt.

 _I killed Eren_ , he thought helplessly to the air.  _I'm sorry. I'm sorry_.

There was a boy beside him. Gaunt and pale, barefoot like Armin. He walked alongside him, his hollow eyes turned forward. He looked sad and empty. Like Armin. His wrists were angry red welts. Armin didn't understand it. Levi had been an adult when he'd died, but here he was, a slow, bumbling child, eerie as ever.

"What do I do?" he uttered aloud as he reached the parking lot, the hems of his sweatpants soaked through with mud and his feet blackened to his calves. He swayed, vomit burning the back of his throat.

The child— Levi— took his hand and dragged him forward.

Armin had no will to object.

When he reached the door, Levi disappeared, his body flickering madly, and in his wake Armin heard scratching, the soft, desperate sound of a child locked in a crawlspace. He sighed.

He tried the door, and to his surprise it was unlocked. He walked in, shutting the door behind him, and he rested his head against it. His entire body was sore. Everything in him was locked and throbbing. He felt like a ghost of himself, wandering aimlessly, because he had no purpose now. He knew who had killed Eren. And there was nothing he could do about it.

"Armin!"

He stiffened. He did not want to talk to Mikasa or Jean or anyone.

He turned to face her, her angry face a weird haze, and he realized his vision was swimming. He didn't see her. He didn't see any of them. He was fading out of existence, like Eren did sometimes, and the world seemed less real through this foggy lens.

"Holy shit, Armin, what happened?" Jean sounded really horrified, which was funny, and Armin laughed at him, brushing past him. Mikasa grabbed his arms, whirling him around and staring into his face.

"Armin…" she whispered, touching his cheek. He jerked away from her, and shoved her so hard that she stumbled back.

He didn't want anyone to see him. He just wanted to disappear.

They couldn't understand that. So he let them stare at him, gape at him, as he stumbled through the hall and into the bathroom. He locked the door behind him. He heard them shouting for him, and he stared at the floor, at his mud-stained feet, his wriggling toes, and he was dizzy from all of the moving he'd done in the past few hours, dizzy from all the truths that had been spilt onto him in the night, and now morning was isolating him from the world. He just couldn't take it anymore.

Levi appeared before him. The bathtub was filling up on its own accord. Tears filled Armin's eyes once more.

Was this what he wanted?

The child stood, the only thing in the world that seemed opaque and clear, his eyes hollow and his hair dusty, but he looked more human than anything or anyone, and that was enough for Armin.

"I don't…" he breathed, staring at the tub and listening to the water spit and roar.

"Eren drowned," Levi said, his voice an echo, not really there, not really coming from anything. It was as though the Doppler effect had bent to the boy's will. "Don't you think you should suffer the same fate?"

Armin didn't know. Was this what he wanted?

"It's okay," Levi told him. "Don't worry. Dying doesn't hurt at all. You'll be fine."

Armin nodded. All he heard was the boy's voice echoing off the walls and the roar of a waterfall. He climbed into the tub, wincing at the icy chill of the water, and he trembled as he sunk himself into it. The water seemed to pierce through his skin and soak into his bones, freezing his skeleton over thrice before causing it to crack and collapse in on itself.

"That's right," Levi said, standing beside the tub, watching him with his dead eyes and empty expression. "It's better this way. Don't you think?"

He couldn't speak. So he nodded instead.

"It won't hurt."

Echoes of screams and sobs smashed into his ears as he nodded. Levi placed his tiny, mangled hand on Armin's head. He felt the weight of it. The boy was real. He was the only real thing in the entire world, it seemed, for the room had become some distorted, white and piercing, elongated and crooked. Armin's clothes were sticking heavily to his flesh, and his teeth chattered as the tub over flowed.

"Are you ready?" Levi did not move his mouth. The words were coming at Armin from all sides.

He couldn't even nod this time.

A great, smashing weight fell upon his head, and little fingers knotted in his hair as he was forcibly submerged beneath the water. Everything was cold. His eyes snapped open, and he inhaled, water shooting up his nose and burning his throat. He thrashed, and he screamed, and he flailed, but there was nothing but water around him, nothing but the roar of a waterfall as the entire world went white.

* * *

He woke up leaning against a tree.

The daylight burned his eyes, and his body was aching terribly, but he took a deep breath and dealt with it. He must have passed out sometime after Eren had disappeared. Typical of him, really. He wiped his face, wincing in pain, and he sat upright.

He was thinking.

The thoughts didn't come at him all at once this time. He wasn't succumbing to his guilt. He felt like something had aligned over night. The world felt peaceful, and he felt venomous.

Okay. Now he was pissed.

 _Eren's okay_ , he thought, pushing himself to his feet.  _He's not mad that I killed him. So now I have to deal with everyone else who lied to me_.

He'd start with Mikasa.

The morning light shifted through the wavering tree branches, and he felt at peace. Like nothing could hurt him now. He'd already faced the worst of what the forest had to offer. He chewed the inside of his cheek, and he just let himself walk. It was a mild morning, a little chilly but nothing harsh. He was a little sick to his stomach, a little tired and achy, and little angry at himself and at Eren and Mikasa and at the world, but for all it was worth he was okay.

Genuinely this time.

He decided, as he walked out of the forest and across the bridge, that he'd treat the case the same way as he had before he'd been told the truth. Certainly there were things he needed to take into account, like the fact that Armin had killed Eren, but the fact of it was that Armin was not entirely certain why that had happened. Yes, he'd pushed Eren. He had trouble remembering that though.

So why? Why had Armin done it? There had to be a good reason, right? After all, Eren wasn't angry about it, and it was Eren! He got angry so easily when he believed something unjust.  _So_ , Armin concluded,  _Eren must think that his death was a just one_.

That scared him.

He stopped by Reiner's bar, walking in as though nothing had happened in the two days that had passed. Reiner looked up at him from the bar, and he put on a crooked smile before his face fell, collapsing in concern.

"Armin," Reiner said softly, "what happened to you?"

He stood confusedly, and he looked down. He was wearing pajamas, his feet bare and muddy. It was like the previous morning all over again. He wished he could forget that, but he supposed it was for the best that he was remembering things. Eidetic memory only got him so far when he was prone to motivated forgetting in the form of suppression.

"I passed out in the woods," he admitted.

"Holy shit!" Reiner rounded the bar, and Armin blinked as he was pulled over to a bar stool and plopped down. "What happened? Did you get mugged?"

"What?" Armin blinked rapidly. He touched his face, and he winced. He sat for a moment, his mouth parting in shock. Reiner was staring at him with a furrowed brow, square jaw set, and Armin didn't know what he was thinking. "I… I don't know…"

"Why are you in your pajamas?" Reiner sat down in the stool beside Armin's, leaning forward and peering at him curiously. "Are you okay? Did something happen?" Now he really sounded worried. "Did anyone—?"

"No," he cut in firmly. "I'm really fine, Reiner."

"Holy fuck, you're such a liar." Reiner pulled out his phone, turning the camera on and turning it to Armin. His mouth fell open once again, and he reached up toward his head, ignoring the purplish welt on his cheekbone and immediately running his hands through his half shorn, feathery hair.

"What the fuck?" Armin grabbed the phone, peering closer at his reflection. It looked like someone had started hacking at his hair with a knife. There were deep red flecks and strands in some places, and he realized it was blood. He touched his neck, and to his dismay there were multiple cuts running along his nape and throat. He laughed in disbelief.

"You're laughing." Reiner's eyebrows rose, and he shrugged. "Well. You're as weird as ever. Here, let me clean you up."

"What?" Armin couldn't tear his eyes from his awful reflection. Half his hair was up to about his ears in comparison to where it had been before, below his chin. He was a little hurt. Not so much about the cuts on his neck, but because he was really attached to his hair.

Reiner was rummaging through drawers behind the bar, and held up a finger as he ran into a back room. Armin spent that time ruffling his hair, frowning to himself.  _Fuck you, Levi_ , he thought, slumping in his seat. Why hadn't he woken up? God damn it.

As he continued to play with his hair, he noted something on his arm. He let his hand drop, and he stared vacantly at the bright red welt on his forearm, blood smeared and dull pain becoming more and more apparent.

It was an eye.

"Fuck," he whispered, closing his hand around the mark.

Reiner returned with a wet rag and scissors. He stepped up behind Armin, steadying his shoulders and tilting his head straight. "Don't move," he said, dabbing Armin's hair, rubbing the blood away and wetting the ends of the longer side. Armin listened to the harsh  _snip-snip-snip_  of the scissors, sitting very still and holding his breath.

Roughly ten minutes later, Reiner wiped Armin's neck free of blood and dusted the excess hair from his shoulders.

"There we go," he said, kicking the tufts of pale hair that had fallen to the floor into a pile. "It looks decent enough for now. I tried to keep it looking choppy, 'cause it's cute." He handed Armin back his phone.

"Oh!" Armin blinked rapidly as he touched the feathery mass of hair that gathered about his ears. "Wow, Reiner, thank you!"

"Don't worry about it." Reiner winked as he walked behind the counter, grabbing a dust pan. "You know you can count on me."

"Yeah." Armin smiled at him brightly. It felt like a real smile. "Where'd you learn to this so well?"

"Oh, I used to cut Annie's hair all the time," he said, sweeping up the mass of Armin's hair on the floor. "She had a rough childhood."

Armin sat, staring vacantly at him. What kind of rough childhood? He hadn't known that. How had he not known that?

"Oh," he said, running his fingers subconsciously through his hair. "Well, thanks." What else could he say? He hadn't come here to get a hair cut or to be even remotely cleaned up, but Reiner had cared for him beyond expectations. He was just a really nice guy, wasn't he? Armin didn't understand it.

Perhaps at this point, he was a little shocked that there were still good people in the world.

"No problem." Reiner tossed an envelope onto the counter as he rounded the bar again. "That's for the bike."

"Wait, you got the money already?" Armin snatched the envelope up, letting it weigh in his hands. He stared at Reiner with large, disbelieving eyes. "How do you do it?"

"Well I'm strong and efficient!" Reiner flexed his arm, though Armin couldn't actually see his muscles beneath his cotton shirt. "These muscles were made for more than just looking fine, you know."

"Um, okay." Armin smiled brightly. "You really are the best. How can I repay you?"

Reiner tilted his head. "Sex will be fine," he said flippantly, a mischievous smirk splitting his face. Armin's face fell. He realized he was flushing and backpedaling before he could even think. Reiner's eyes grew very wide as he noted Armin's discomfort, and he stood up straight, waving his hands hurriedly. "That was a joke! Holy shit, I'm sorry. It's been awhile, Armin, I didn't think you'd take a dirty joke seriously."

"That was a terrible joke," Armin squeaked, pressing the envelope to his chest and taking a deep breath to calm his mind. No need to worry. Just a joke. He didn't know what he would have done if it hadn't been, though.  _Would I have done it?_ Armin was sickened at the thought.

"Yeah, I know. I'm really sorry." Reiner scratched his head sheepishly. "Fuck. That was super insensitive. Look, you gotta yell at me when I do stuff like that, got it? I can be an asshole sometimes."

"It's okay…" He took a deep breath. He decided not to smile. He needed to stop lying. To himself and to everyone around him. He stood for a few seconds, quiet as he hugged the envelope, and he looked up at Reiner. "Actually… you probably should have given me a hint that you were joking. You really scared me."

"I could tell." Reiner smiled apologetically. "Sorry. It won't happen again."

Armin smiled back at him. "Thank you," he exhaled.

"Would you have done it though?" Reiner asked, looking very innocent and very curious. Armin found himself scowling, his face burning in embarrassment and shame.

"Bye, Reiner," he said curtly, turning away.

"Bro!"

Armin decided he really did not like the idea of sex. It seemed humiliating.

Like something someone could hold against him, which made him severely uncomfortable.

He didn't know if he wanted anyone to know him that intimately.

No. Not even Eren.

He pocketed the money, realizing he had his cell phone with him. He checked it, and he saw he had a bunch of messages from Mikasa and Jean and Ymir. Mikasa and Jean just kept asking him where he was, but Ymir had asked him why he'd called. Was she not worried about Historia? Or had Historia gotten home okay without him?

When he tried to rub his eyes, it hurt. He brushed the bruise that crawled along his cheekbone. He also found the knife that had killed Levi in his pocket. It brushed up against his thigh, only a thin bit of fabric between him and a murder weapon, and he wondered why that didn't bother him more.

He made it home once more. And once more he was covered in dirt and in pajamas. This was the second morning in a row. He sighed, ruffling his newly shorn hair. He'd have to apologize for nearly killing himself. It irritated him that that was the case. Like, he hadn't meant to? Couldn't they just let it slide? They were the unreasonable ones. He was really stressed out right now!

The steps were cold as he climbed up to the apartment, exhausted and sore, his body rejecting every motion. The metal stairwell creaked in objection to his weight. He stood for a moment, staring vacantly at the door in deep thought. Finally, he tried the door.

It was locked.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" he muttered. He took a deep breath, and he rapped very hard. He waited for about a minute, leaning back against the metal rail and peering up at the pale blue sky. His hair tickled his cheeks, falling into his eyes. He brushed it away as the door swung open.

It was not Mikasa who answered.

"Hange?" Armin blurted, lurching forward. "What are you doing here?"

They stood, looking just as alarmed and confused to see him as he was to see them. They lowered their glasses to get a better look at him. "Don't you know, kiddo?" They looked a little confused. "I've been investigating all night!" Armin's mouth fell open, but they continued, grabbing his arms and peering at his face closely. "But never mind that! You're so pale! When was the last time you ate or drank anything?"

"Uh…"

"Or at least tell me where you slept last night," Hange begged, pulling him into the apartment and shutting the door behind him. He swayed a little dizzily, and he looked down at his feet. "Armin. Were you in the woods?"

He looked up at them. He smiled tremulously. "This is bad, isn't it?" he whispered.

Hange smiled back, though he could see it in their eyes. It was bad. They patted his head gently, tugging at a lock of hair. "When did you cut it?"

"Just now." Armin ruffled the feathery blond locks. They felt a little greasy and unclean to him. His scalp was beginning to itch. "I think Levi decided to cut it while I was sleeping."

Hange's eyes narrowed a bit. "Did he now?" they murmured. Their eyes roved around the living room. "Hey! Levi! Stop picking on Armin!"

There was a heavy  _thunk_  from somewhere inside the walls, and Armin jumped. Hange laughed at him. "I'm guessing that nasty shiner is from Levi too?"

"I guess so." Armin didn't really remember.

"What an ass."

The shuffling sound of multiple footsteps barreling toward the living room made him jump, and he took a step back as a small woman came skidding through the doorway, a disgruntled man following her. He wore a scowl, his chin high and his nose stuck up in the air.

"Hange!" the woman cried, smoothing out her sweater. She was very short, her face round and her strawberry blonde hair layered and tussled around her neck and chin. Her large eyes swerved from Hange to Armin, and her mouth fell open. "Oh my gosh, are you okay?"

Armin shrunk back, feeling self-conscious and foolish.

"I think the more important question would be," said the man at her side, a guy with tired eyes and a perpetual frown, "who are you?"

"I live here," Armin said flatly. "Who are you?"

"Oh, Armin, these are my investigators!" Hange clasped their hands excitedly, jumping up beside the duo, who looked suddenly a little uncomfortable. "Petra Ral, my best and brightest anthro student!" Hange pinched their cheek, and Petra batted them away, ducking their gasp. "And Auruo Bossard.  _B_ _â_ _tard_."

"What the hell did you just call me?" Auruo bristled.

"A bastard, Auruo," Petra told him curtly. "If you'd taken French like you were supposed to—"

"Oh, shut up."

"Um…" Armin hunched a little, sheepish and confused. "Hello. So… why are you in my apartment, again?"

"We did a little investigating last night," Hange chirped. "Nothing too spectacular. I kinda just wanted to scope the place out a bit, but holy shit, you've got some real heavy paranormal activity going on here!"

"Auruo was pushed," Petra said brightly. "Multiple times!"

Auruo scowled at her, and he lifted his chin even higher in a way that screamed "superiority complex." He laughed at her coldly. "Well at least my hair didn't get tugged a dozen times! Honestly, you should cut it again. It's far too long and unkempt."

"You call  _my_  hair unkempt?"

"So… Levi was here?" Armin blinked. How had he been here and in the woods beating Armin up at the same time?

"Not the entire night," Hange explained quickly, as though they'd read Armin's mind. "When we first arrived a lot of things began happening, and I'll show you some of the things we caught, but after about midnight it stopped altogether. That must have been when Levi came after you. Which…" Hange tilted their head, their excited tone slipping. They looked suddenly concerned, which unnerved him. "Is a little odd. Why does Levi hate you so much?"

"I…" Armin leaned back against the door. He felt lightheaded. "I never met Levi when he was alive. I didn't even know his name until a few days ago."

"Jealousy." Auruo nodded to Hange firmly. "Has to be. You said he's attached to the brat, right? Well, if he thinks this kid here—"

"I'm twenty one."

Auruo ignored him. "—That this kid might be getting too close to Mikasa, then hello. Poltergeist!"

"That really could be the issue here," Petra admitted, looking up at Hange. "From what I've observed, Levi does not like boys." Armin bit his tongue to keep himself from laughing. "I mean, he bullied Auruo just for being within range, but when he got to me he just played with my hair. He never even touched you, probably because he knows you."

"Which is truly disappointing," Hange lamented, sighing loudly. "C'mon, Levi! You've never been afraid to punch me before!"

"I don't think that's the case," Armin blurted. They all turned to look at him. He flushed, embarrassed at the attention and irritated that this was all happening when all he wanted was to shower and go to sleep.

"Yes?" Hange watched him with curiosity gleaming in their eyes. "Go on, Armin. I'm excited to hear your theories."

Armin wasn't sure if he was all that confident in himself, but Hange seemed to trust him, and that was enough for right now.

He looked around, and he sighed. "He's here right now, isn't he?" He wandered around the room, his dirty feet dragging along the smooth wooden floor. They watched him as he ran his fingers along the walls. He paused, watching his skinny fingers and his blackened nails, and he drew them across the surface of the pale blue paint. He listened to the scratching sound, and he stopped for a moment.

On the other side of the wall, his scratching was echoed. Only this scratching was loud and violent, rapid like claws against a chalkboard. He noted Auruo jump.

"So the question is, I guess," Armin murmured, tapping the wall thoughtfully. "Which Levi is it?"

"Which?" Auruo scoffed. "What do you mean, there are two of them? That makes no sense."

"Ah!" Hange clapped their fist into their hand. "Armin, sit down. Tell me what you figured out right now!"

He looked at them, and he nodded quickly, sinking himself into the couch and waiting for them to follow. All three of them came around, Hange sitting on the couch beside Armin, and Auruo and Petra sitting on the floor.

"Okay…" Armin glanced at the wall, wondering why he wasn't more scared. Perhaps what had happened the previous night and the night before that had simply sucked all the fear out of him. "Well, frankly, Levi is an asshole."

"True," Hange said. "He always was."

"But…" Armin bit his lower lip, and he bowed his head. "He did have a reason to be. You know?"

Hange said nothing in reply. Their eyes had narrowed quite a bit, and Armin wondered how much Levi had told them.

"Levi had really bad memory problems," Armin explained. "He'd habitually just forget everything about himself, his entire life, and he'd just act like he was fine in front of people even though he had no idea who they were." Auruo and Petra looked at each other confusedly. Hange just sat and stared. "I've heard a lot of different things about him. That he was cold, and weird, and distant, and angry. I think that's just because he usually had no idea who he was, and he was always in a constant state of  _tabula rasa_. And when he wasn't completely blank, he only remembered things half-way."

"How do you know about that?" Hange asked cautiously.

He sunk further in his seat. He didn't know if he wanted to say anything more, if he was in danger of saying too much. Levi hadn't appeared. He was okay for now, right?

"I talked to him," he said slowly, though that was half a lie. He had no idea how he could possibly explain what Levi's possession had done to him. This was the easiest explanation. "He told me."

"Honestly, I find that very difficult to believe." Hange watched him warily. "I didn't even know the extent of it, you know. I just figured out that he seemed off all the time, and Erwin— a friend of ours— confronted him about the rest. He was very secretive."

"I know."

"So why would he confide in you," Hange asked in the kind of calm, cold tone that reminded him of speaking to Reiss years and years before, "and then beat you senseless?"

"I…" Armin sighed, and he shook his head. "Look, I don't know him like you do, but I know enough about him to understand that he's really desperate. He was murdered and he got zero justice for that murder. Not only that, but I'm pretty sure his soul is directly tied to his murderer and he's being controlled somehow."

Okay. Now he sounded kinda crazy.

Auruo barked a laugh, and Petra elbowed him sharply.

Hange folded their hands in their lap, their expression hard to discern. Armin thought they might be angry with him for some inexplicable reason, but then they nodded, and Armin relaxed.

"Controlled by his murderer, huh?" Hange leaned back, flexing their fingers before them, long and tanned and twitching. "Honestly… that makes sense. Levi hated to admit it, but he was never in control. His life was dictated by his abuser until, I assume, his abuser had no use for him and ended it."

"That… sounds about right," Armin murmured. He looked up, and he saw that Levi had appeared beside him. He jumped, a chill jolting down his spine, and he realized he'd been wrong, he could still be scared, and he was terrified of this child, this ghost of Levi's awful childhood. He looked around hurriedly, but no one seemed to notice his presence.

"They can't see me," Levi explained. He didn't open his mouth. The words were pooled directly into Armin's head. "You should probably just shut up now."

"But why you?" Hange turned their attention to Armin, their brow furrowing. "Why would Kenny target you?"

"Tell them to leave," Levi's small, squeaky voice sang in his head. It was a child's voice. "Tell them to get the fuck out of here, or I'll make you kill them all and then yourself."

Armin blinked wildly. No, that wouldn't… he wouldn't! He shook his head fiercely. He had to be stronger than that, right? He needed to think like Eren. Eren had been so strong willed. Even if he'd been possessed, it had still taken years and years for it to get truly bad. Armin could be strong too, couldn't he?

He felt a familiar chill, and he tried to shake it off, shuddering and trembling and biting his half-swollen lip so hard that it bled, and he tasted blood, and he was scared of this maddening sensation of all his limbs going numb because the truth was he  _couldn't_  fight Levi. He presence was too strong, too overwhelmingly strong, and he seemed to crush Armin's will like it was a small, hollow glass bead.

When he felt his mind clear a bit from the cold smog that had billowed before his eyes, he saw a gun in his hands. His mouth was moving. There was frost and blood clinging to the corners of his eyes, red and white stars, and it was surreal to be in this position, his point of view narrow and all his senses clouded over. He felt like he was in a video game, a first person shooter, and there were tiny red targets painted haphazardly across blank faces.

Suddenly the gun was out of his hands, and he blinked wildly as some semblance of sensation came roaring back into him, his fingers throbbing from something forcing him to let go.

He was knocked onto his back and pinned down.

 _Thank god_ , he thought, relief spiraling through him, melting into his muscles and bones and allowing him to relax.  _Thank god_ …

He still numb and dazed, but the feeling was fading, and he felt a great amount of pressure on his brain. And his arms. He shifted in discomfort, and he realized someone had tied him to a chair using zip ties, and his mind blotted out in a spell of dizziness, thoughts of awakening beneath the shed in the woods haunting him. He realized he was shaking, and that he was begging aloud for it to stop, for the pain of the knife to stop, for the cutting to stop.

His vision swam, and he found himself once more looking at Hange, Auruo, and Petra. They all looked rather pale.

He groaned, and he let his head drop. It felt so heavy all of a sudden. What had happened?

"Armin…?" Hange knelt before him, cautiously laying a hand on his head. When he didn't react, he felt their body loosen, and their fingers smoothed out his hair, running through it gingerly. "Hey, look at me."

He looked up at them through heavily lidded eyes. Everything hurt. He was bruised, bloody, dirt caked, and he was pretty sure something in his hand was fractured. He was surprised he hadn't vomited yet.

"No one's going to hurt you, okay?" Hange smiled, and they tucked his hair behind his ear, smoothing it back from his face and minding the bruise. "I'm sorry I kicked you."

"You… kicked me?" He tried to think back on it, but he just remembered the pain in his hand and the gun going away.

"Do you not remember the absurd round house kick that knocked you onto your ass?" Auruo asked, glancing at him strangely. "Unbelievable."

"He was possessed, Auruo," Petra snapped. She smiled at Armin warmly as he gaped at her. "Don't worry, Armin, I think you're okay now. Why didn't you say something before? Has this been happening a lot?"

"Uh…" He shifted, tugging on his wrists, but they were firmly zip tied to the arms of the chair. "Yeah, kinda. Can you untie me?"

Hange blinked, and they laughed. "Oh, yeah!" they gasped. "No way."

"What?"

"You pulled a gun on us," Petra said, her smile growing sheepish. "We can't untie you until we figure out why Levi is targeting you."

Armin looked around. He was in the kitchen, and there were wires and laptops everywhere, all sorts of equipment lying out in the open. He spotted an EMF meter sitting on the counter, and he assumed there was an EVP recorder somewhere in the mess of cords.

"Moblit actually got you on camera!" Hange cried eagerly, jumping up and whirling away. "Here, let me show you!"

"Hange, I don't think…" said a man in the doorway, a man that Armin had not noticed until he'd spoken up. Moblit, Armin supposed. He was quiet and lanky, his posture giving away his discomfort.

Armin listened as Hange fiddled with one of the laptops, the soft sound of keys clicking and the tapping of a mouse pad. Then Hange brought the laptop over and set it in Armin's lap, adjusting the screen so he could see it better.

The image on screen was certainly himself. He was holding a gun, looking utterly relaxed and impossibly comfortable in his own skin. It was jarring to see, because he was hardly ever in such an easy position, especially not a position of power. He didn't know how he should react to this, and it felt odd to him. Moblit was filming from the side, probably in the doorway where he wouldn't be noticed. He seemed to be frozen in place as Armin tapped his foot impatiently.

" _I don't really want to kill you_ ," Armin's voice floated through the speakers, leisurely and dull. " _But this is all getting a little bit too out of hand, and you're all too damn curious. So get out._ "

Nobody moved. Armin shrugged. " _Or you could all just die here. You wouldn't be the first_."

" _Is that you, Levi_?" Hange wasn't facing the camera. All Armin could see was a mass of brown hair tilting to the side. " _It's awfully rude of you to just steal a kid's body like that_."

Armin turned his gun specifically on them. He realized where he must have gotten it. Beneath the table, where Mikasa hid it in case of a burglary. " _Get the fuck out_ ," Armin repeated. " _I won't say it again. I'm not joking, I'll put a bullet in your brain faster than you can blink_."

" _And then what_?" Hange sounded amused. " _Come on now, Levi, you're so uptight. If you kill us now, we'll just come back as ghosts and bother you_!"

" _Hange_ …" Auruo hissed.

" _It's not that simple_ ," Armin said. " _It's pretty unlikely you'll come back at all, and if you do you'd never be able to go up against me_."

" _As haughty as ever_ ," Hange sighed. " _Take a lesson in humility, Levi_."

Armin kept pointing the gun at Hange, but suddenly he seemed to freeze up. He could not see his own face, but something was wrong in the way he stood, and Armin realized this must have been the point where Armin started to wake up. The gun was still steady in his hand, but now he was unsure. Armin knew that. Armin could almost taste the uncertainty in his own thoughts as his finger lingered on the trigger.

Without standing, Hange's leg jerked upward and kicked the gun from Armin's hand. It went skidding across the floor, and Armin stumbled back, clutching his hand and shaking very hard before finally falling onto his back.

Hange paused the video. It was shaky at that point anyway. Moblit must have started running, and the rattling of the camera made the microphone pick up excess jostling noises.

"I'm so sorry," Armin blurted, squeezing his eyes shut. "I… I should have just listened to him… I'm sorry…"

"Armin, it's totally fine," Hange told him gently.

"It  _is_?" Auruo cried. Petra shushed him.

"Look, that wasn't your fault. Actually, it kinda confirmed everything you just said. Though I'm not really sure why Levi would want us dead."

He opened his eyes and shook his head furiously. "Not Levi," he insisted. "Kenny. Kenny's the one controlling him. Levi told me to tell you to go away or else he'd use me to kill you all, but it was the bad version of Levi."

"Let me guess," Petra said dryly. "He looks like a child?"

Armin glanced up at her. He nodded confusedly. "How…?"

She took the laptop from him and switched screens. He saw another video appear, this one of Mikasa's room. It was dark, in black and white in fact, and it was angled toward the open closet door. He watched as a small figure came crawling from the yawning darkness, a little boy who moved like an animal, limbs protruding through his raggedy clothes and dark hair obscuring his face. He crawled beneath the bed, and Armin found he was holding his breath.

"That's it," Petra explained, pausing the video. "The next time he appears, he's a grown man. I thought they were different ghosts at first, but now…"

"No, they're the same." Armin swallowed thickly. He was a little dizzy from all the spooks he was receiving. "When Levi was a child, Kenny would lock him in the crawlspace for hours. Handcuffed to a support beam. That's why he haunts the crawlspace and Mikasa's room more than any other place. He suffered the most throughout his life in those two places, I think."

"Do you think he died in the crawlspace?" Petra asked. She looked very curious, and not even remotely put off by what he was saying. They were paranormal investigators. This was probably normal for them.

"No." He shook his head. "He died…" Levi's voice filled his head, this time sharp and furious.  _If you tell them anything else, I really can't let them leave. Shut the fuck up for once!_

Armin clamped his mouth shut. Levi was warning him not for Armin's benefit, but for theirs. He definitely did not want to kill these people. He'd probably kill Armin before that happened, but even so, it wasn't like Levi couldn't do it himself. He was fully capable. He just held back, for whatever reason.

"Can you untie me?" he asked suddenly, yanking on the zip ties. "I can't think like this."

"We can't let you go just yet," Hange sighed, patting his head. "I've got a feeling Levi's still here."

"Yep," Auruo said. He was standing by the table, holding an EMF meter. "This thing is spiking."

"I can't help you if you don't untie me," Armin said, his eyes narrowing at them. "Also… I'll tell Mikasa that you were the ones who beat me up and cut my hair."

They all looked very alarmed except Hange, who tilted their head, their eyes widening. Auruo snorted, but as he watched Armin's face, he seemed to grow fearful.

"Why the fuck would we do that? She definitely wouldn't believe you without any proof." Auruo gained some confidence, but he immediately lost it as Armin laughed.

"Mikasa listens to me," he said firmly, "but you'll probably be too fucked up to notice."

Auruo flinched, and he grimaced down at Armin. "You're creepy," he said.

"Erwin 2.0!" Hange beamed. Armin didn't know what else to do. He hadn't expected that reaction from them. But then, he didn't really know them all that well. "It's okay, Armin. I know you're on the defensive right now, but you don't have to be! I swear I'm not going to hurt you, kay?"

"Hange," he said, staring up at them, finding that he was exhausted of lying and losing and letting all control slip away. "In the past forty eight hours I've been possessed more times than I can possibly count, woken up in the woods twice, in the hospital once, had a suicide attempt that I don't really remember all that well, stopped a friend from a suicide attempt,  _abandoned_  said friend in the woods because I got possessed— I have no idea if she's okay, by the way— oh, and the best part? I had a nice conversation with my best friend's ghost." He yanked very hard on zip ties, angry tears springing into his eyes. "I don't have the energy to deal with this right now! I'm sorry I tried to kill you, but I was possessed. What do you want me to do? What do you want me to say? I don't have the answers you want, Hange, and frankly?" He smiled, tears beginning to fall in a quick procession. "I'm tired of looking!"

He exhaled sharply, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment as they all stared at him. He was so sick of all this bullshit. He might as well just turn himself in to the police so he could get away from all the madness.

They were literally just staring at him. He'd rather it if they just set him on fire, or something.

"Untie me," he demanded.

"Okay." Hange shrugged, and they jerked their chin. "Moblit! Untie him."

Armin sat in shock as the man quickly went to work at his zip ties with a pair of scissors. He sat in a bit of a daze as they snapped and fell to the floor.

"T-thanks…" he murmured, bowing his head. He felt useless and numb. "I think it'd be best if you left now."

"But—!" Auruo objected, Petra looking very much in agreement, her mouth falling open and a noise of objection breaking from her lips.

"Okay, Armin," Hange said, nodding at him. "We'll leave, but I'm calling Mikasa and Jean so they come back here right away. I don't think it's safe for you to be alone right now."

He nodded. He didn't know what else he could say or do. So he sat in that chair, thinking fast and feeling little, his heart and his mind all muddled in one cohesive thrum. He wanted to lie down and empty himself of everything bad that had accumulated inside of him in the past seven years, but that was hard, this was hard, living was so damn hard, especially when the murderer of your best friend that you've been searching for for weeks just happens to be  _you_.

Armin would do anything to take it all back.

The world would be a lot better off if he'd just died instead of Eren.

By the time Hange and her squad gathered all of their stuff up and brought it to their car, Armin had shut down completely. He found himself wandering outside just as they were packing up the last of their equipment, and he stuck his hands in his pockets, thinking to himself,  _What if I'd just killed them and myself? Wouldn't it be easier?_

But it was just a whim of a thought and nothing more.

Hange spotted him, and they approached cautiously. After a long stare, they flung their arms around Armin's shoulders and yanked him to their chest. He yelped as he was squished against them. He stiffened immediately. But after a moment or two, he relaxed a bit, and he sighed.

Hugs were nice, because the warmth that came from them was never something violent or ugly, and he felt at ease when he realized someone cared about his feelings enough to hug him. He needed that. He needed that reassurance and compassion.

Hange pulled back, and they ruffled his hair. "I'm really sorry it went the way it did," they said, smoothing back Armin's bangs from his eyes. "Is your friend really dead?"

There was an ache in his throat as he swallowed thickly, hoping to dislodge it. It didn't work, so he just nodded instead of speaking.

"I'm sorry," they repeated, bowing their head. "I know it's difficult. It took me a few years to figure out and accept what had happened to Levi. You should just… try to take it easy for a little while, okay? And maybe get out of the apartment."

"I don't think the problem is the apartment," Armin admitted. He pulled his hand from his pocket and held up the dagger. The face of it gleamed in the morning sunlight, and Hange stared, gaping openly as he offered it out to them. "Here. This is what killed Levi. You can probably find some proof that Kenny did it on here, right?"

"Armin, where did you…?" they gasped, looking overjoyed and wary.

"I found it." He held the blade out to them, his fingers fitting in the grooves of the carved ivory eyes. "Please take it, and be careful. I think… I think this is the reason why I keep getting possessed. I mean, it really only started happening when I found it."

"Well of course the haunting is going to get worse if you have the murder weapon in your pocket the whole time!" Hange cried, smacking him gently over the head. He yelped again. "You might just be the smartest idiot I know, Armin!"

"You say that like it's a compliment…" he mumbled.

"It is!" They beamed at him, and snatched the dagger from his hand. "Don't worry, I know exactly how to handle this. Thank you for trusting me with it… especially after what happened just now."

"To be honest, I just want to get rid of it."

"Understandably!" Hange shook their head, a bright smile still somehow playing on their lips. "Listen, I know what happened just now was scary, but I promise we'll figure things out. If you want we can try to contact your friend too! He might be able to tell us how he died."

The thought of Hange talking to Armin terrified him more than Levi's possession ever could.

"I don't think that's necessary," he said weakly. "Thanks, though."

Hange studied him curiously. He stared at them, his heart thudding hard, and he wondered if they knew, if they could guess by the reluctant answers and the nervous smiles. Everyone probably knew by now, anyway. He could feel it like an ocean swell rising around him. He was already doomed.

"If you're sure," they said slowly. "But you know, Armin… it probably isn't very safe for you right now. Kenny might know you know about Levi."

"I'm sure he does." He managed a shrug and a smile, and he tapped his cracked, muddy heel against the asphalt. "What does it matter at this point? Only so many people can disappear mysteriously before the truth comes out. I'm not running away from this, Hange. I don't think I can."

"You're really brave," they laughed, ruffling his hair. "Just be careful, okay?"

"I will," he said, not knowing whether or not it was a lie. It made him sad to not know himself, to be lost in apathy. But what else could he say?

When Hange left, Armin stood vacantly, and he felt as though a weight had been lifted from him now that the dagger was gone. He knew that he'd dropped it in the woods the night before, but that hadn't stopped Levi's ghostly child self from trying to drown him. So had it been the dagger after all? And what about that locket that Dr. Jaeger had been talking about?

Armin didn't remember a locket of any sort on Eren. Ever.

But then again, Armin had been blind to Eren's struggle with mental illness, so it's likely that anything could have gone unnoticed at this point.

He really hated himself for this.

"They're gone," he called to the empty house when he returned inside. He felt foolish, as usual, when no one answered. He let himself stand there, swaying in the doorway, feeling sick and sad and spent. He was simply done with the world, it seemed, and it was certainly done with him.

When he decided to shower, it took him a long time to figure out clothing and fumble with knobs and finally undress himself. He felt like someone had branded him, marked him for a traitor, and let the guilt gnaw at him alive. When he looked down and saw the water pool around the bright red, raised skin on his forearm where an eye had been carved in, he realized it was actually true. He had been marked.

If anything, showering gave him some clarity. He felt as though, in spite of the recent hiccups, he was more awake than he'd been in months. He washed the dirt from his thighs, watching the brown rivulets dribble against his pasty calves, and he scrubbed his skin raw and red, feeling that he had no other choice but to cleanse himself of all the bad things, all the turmoil he'd wrought and had wrought onto him. It was just the ambience of a season's changing, the long, vivid existential break in life that sparked resolution. He would not let himself dream through his life any longer.

He would not forget anything else.

So he scrubbed away all the bad feelings and the bad thoughts, rubbing the soap against his pallid skin and thinking to himself that it was possible _. I can make it through this. I can still help Eren_. He just needed to stop pretending that this investigation didn't involve him. He would scrub away all the lies and let the ugly surface show.  _Eren Jaeger was murdered by Armin Arlert in late autumn seven years ago. That is a fact._  He had to scrub at this, polish this ugly, mottled fact until it gleamed and twinkled, spitting rays of light into his eyes. _Eren Jaeger is now a ghost. That is also a fact._  He knew he didn't need to polish this fact up. He felt as though he'd known this forever, when of course he'd only known for a few short weeks. Eren was a ghost. But why? For some inexplicable reason, Eren was perfectly fine with how his death had played out. He didn't blame Armin at all for what had happened. Eren Jaeger, the righteous, vivacious, outspoken boy that he'd been, refused to seek justice for his own murder.

That made no sense at all!

Even if it had been Armin who'd pushed him, it made no sense that he wouldn't at least want some retribution for it. It was too clean cut! Armin didn't deserve that bullshit excuse that Eren didn't actually care, or whatever, because that wasn't Eren, that wasn't who Eren was, and now Armin could see that clearly. He'd been so worried that Eren would be angry with him for being his murderer that Armin had not considered what was wrong with him  _not_  being angry.

He turned the water off, pushing his damp hair from his eyes and blinking through the steam.

Unless Eren had wanted to die.

 _Did he…?_  Armin found himself shaking violently, the steam from the hot water clinging to his eyes and his throat, and he could not breath, there was no cool air to breathe, and his vision was dotting white.  _Did Eren use me to orchestrate his suicide?_

No way! That was something Armin would do.

It was just way too mean. Eren wouldn't do that to Armin, would he?

The sting of vomit clung to the back of his throat, and he swallowed it down, chewing on his lower lip and climbing shakily out of the tub. He had to figure this out. He didn't know what he'd do if he didn't.

Of course, he could just ask. But no one liked to answer his questions.

He jumped a little as a sharp banging noise tore him from his thoughts, a thumping at the bathroom door that made his spine tingle and his stomach clench. He didn't want anymore encounters with that damned child ghost. Adult Levi seemed heavenly in comparison, which was saying a lot.

He got dressed very hastily, his skin still damp enough that the fabric of his clothes stuck to his skin. He gathered up his dirty clothing in his towel and unlocked the door, nudging it open with his elbow.

The pile of clothing fell from his arms as he was pulled into an immediate embrace, a tight, breathtaking hug that made his chest hurt a bit. He was squished against Mikasa, the scent of her unwashed hair tickling his nose and her soft cheek up against his.

"You're okay," she exhaled into his ear. He blinked.

"Y-yeah…" He wanted to hug her back— he ached to hug her back, really. But he needed answers from her. And he couldn't play nice when he had to play pissed. "Were you waiting out here to make sure I didn't kill myself? Thanks a  _lot_."

"Sounds like someone's back to normal," Jean remarked from his doorway. He looked tired.

"Not really," Armin admitted. "I'll get there, though. Mikasa, please let go of me." She did, reluctantly, but she continued to watch him with large, shining eyes, and he knew he'd terrified her. The thought of losing him had probably triggered something within her that she hadn't felt since Eren had died. Inescapable loneliness.

Armin had been wrong. He couldn't let himself die, not while Mikasa was so attached to him. Maybe if he made her hate him first. Maybe if that was possible.

"Where were you last night?" Mikasa asked, placing her hands on his face and running her thumb over the bruise beneath his eye. He flinched back. "Armin, who did this? And what happened to your hair?"

"Isn't that the question?" He pulled away from her, scooping up his fallen clothes and tossing them into the hamper sitting beside the door of the bathroom. He shrugged. "A lot happened. I don't really know where to start, or if I can even trust my memory anymore."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Jean snapped.

"Nothing," Armin replied shortly, brushing past them. "Just forget it."

"Armin!" Mikasa caught him by the arm, whirling him around. He stared at her, at her impossibly stricken features, her dark gray eyes cloudy with grief and confusion. She was so scared of losing him that she didn't realize what she'd already lost. He was angry with her for lying, but could he really stay that way forever? She didn't deserve it. He was the one that had fucked up, not her.

"Do you want me to apologize for trying to kill myself?" He shook his head furiously, his wet hair slapping against his cheeks. "I can't do that. It wasn't my fault. And even if I'd done it intentionally, it's not fair that I'd have to apologize for something like that! I can't control my depression, Mikasa. Thank you for saving me, but you won't get any apologies from me."

" _I'm_  sorry," she said, squeezing his arm. He yelped, because she had him by the forearm, and her fingers had dug into the sensitive flesh where he'd been branded. For a moment she looked confused. And then she pushed up his sleeve and got a real look at what was beneath it. Her mouth fell open, and recognition sparked in her eyes. He tore his arm away.

"Don't you think it's a little late for that?" he whispered, feeling lost and terrified, because he didn't really know what the brand meant and he didn't know what Mikasa knew.

Mikasa exhaled sharply. Armin let his eyes slide nearly shut, and he observed her from beneath his lashes, watching her shake and squirm, because now she was in a position where she knew that she could lose him, like she'd lost Levi… like she'd lost Eren…

That was it.

This wasn't just some weird little welt. This was a death sentence.

And she knew that all too well.

 _Check_ , he thought, biting his tongue to keep himself from smiling.

"Maybe…" Mikasa lowered her head, her voice strained. She was gritting her teeth and her shoulders were trembling. "Maybe we should have a talk, Armin."

 _Finally_. He opened his eyes, and he nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said softly. "I think it's about time we did."

Instinctively, both their heads turned to Jean. He stood there, glancing between them. He threw his hands up and backpedalled. "I'll be in the kitchen, if you guys need me, or whatever, okay? Yeah. Yeah…" He laughed nervously and disappeared from the hall.

"Careful," Armin murmured. "I've got a feeling he has cameras hidden all over the place."

"I'd know if there was one in my room," she sighed, pulling him forward. "Come on."

He followed her into her room, minding the open closet door and feeling that somehow he was being watched, not just by Levi or Eren, but by something else. It made him sick to his stomach. He couldn't think straight with the bad air, the bad vibes, but that wasn't really new.

He'd been thinking under the strain of a thousand lies for seven years. A little pressure, a little fear? That was nothing in comparison.

Mikasa shut the closet door quickly, and she looked around the room, a little dejected and a little bemused. Armin hugged his arms to his chest, his heart pounding viciously, nausea creeping up on him. What if she hated him? What if he hated her? What if their friendship was over now because both of them were awful liars?

She took a deep breath. "Armin," she began, looking up at him. He cut in fiercely, taking a step forward and releasing all tension in his body, maximizing how non-threatening he could appear.

"I killed Eren," he stated sharply, watching her eyes grow wide and her jaw loosen in shock. They stood, staring at each other, a great chasm of lies rushing between them. It was about time they bridged the gap. The words felt heavy and dull, like an axe that hadn't been whetted before brought to the executioner's block, so the pain was blinding and death was nowhere in sight.

"How…?" Mikasa whispered, blinking a few times in her alarm.

"How…?" Armin tilted his head. "How did I kill him?"  _Words_ , he thought,  _are so poisonous_. "Or how do I know that I killed him?"

Her eyes softened considerably. He knew he'd caught her.

"I think," he said, letting himself walk at a leisurely pace around the room, an aimless pace to keep her on edge, which was not something that he wanted to do, but it was something he felt was necessary, "the real question is this, Mikasa." He stopped before the shattered two-way mirror. He stared at it, and he could almost hear Eren's screams as he fell, or… or maybe those screams had been Armin's… He whirled to face her. "Why the hell did you just let me forget that I was the one who murdered Eren?"

And with that, she seemed to crumple. Tears filled her eyes, and in those few moments of utter despair, she seemed to find herself again. And suddenly, right before his eyes, she was steeled.

"Because it wasn't your fault," she said coolly. "You just reacted using logic, Armin. You killed Eren before he could kill me."


	15. Chapter 15

**why it turned winter**

"It'll be just like when we were little!"

Sometimes Armin thought he was really smart. Sometimes he felt confident and sure, like he could really help people with his guidance, with his intuition. Every instinct he had screamed at him to say no. Armin wasn't fooled by the bright smile or the excited voice. He could feel something off within Eren from the moment he'd appeared beneath his window.

But what could he have done? Leave Eren to whatever was plaguing him? Whatever the hell had been wrong with him?

No. Never. Armin was not that kind of friend.

Something wasn't right, and he was going to find out what!

So he smiled. "Okay, Eren," he said. "I'll let you in, okay? I need to get dressed." He didn't want Eren to get sick or anything because Armin had to change his clothes.

"I can wait out here." Eren's voice was distant, and Armin squinted down at him. He supposed he could have been more insistent, but he'd been relatively unassuming about the nature of their little adventure, so he shrugged it off. He'd dressed himself in jeans, a paint splattered shirt from his middle school gym class that miraculously still fit his tiny frame, and a blue sweater that seemed a bit too big, but dark enough that it wouldn't stand out in the darkness. He refrained from wearing black, because he didn't want to be too inconspicuous.

He put on a pair of old, faded sneakers. They were such a generic design, every kid ever probably owned a pair, and they were peeling at the soles and heel. Armin tied them up hurriedly, and he searched through his drawer hastily for a flashlight. He found one, and he considered taking more with him, a bag with his jack knife set, a first aid kit, a compass, a water bottle…

But instead, Armin had just left with a flashlight. He'd figured he wouldn't be gone long. It was a school night after all.

"Eren," Armin whispered, rushing to meet his friend on the lawn. The dead grass crunched beneath his feet, and he peered up into Eren's face. "God! You look awful!"

"Encouraging," Eren said flatly. His eyes were dazed and sunken, his smile plastered on, and Armin shivered at the sight of his wane skin. It was abnormally pale for his skin tone. Armin took Eren's fingers, holding them carefully for a moment and letting it settle that they were as stiff and frigid as marble.

"Eren, you're freezing!" Armin struggled to pull off his sweater, but Eren clapped his hands on his shoulders, shaking his head.

"No," he said firmly. "I don't need that."

"Your nose is runny," Armin whispered, staring up into his face finding more and more abnormalities in Eren's appearance. When Eren stared at him blankly, Armin reached up and pinched his nose until he squeaked. He then wiped the excess snot on his sleeve and turned away. "You need to start taking care of yourself, Eren."

"That kinda hurt," Eren mumbled, trudging toward Armin's side and wiping his nose irritably. "Why'd you pinch so hard?"

"Because it was gross. You look gross." Armin tilted his head curiously as they walked down the street, the night air lashing at his bare cheeks. How long had Eren been outside? It was really cold out, the late autumn nipping away at their skin, chapping anything exposed and waving the threat of frost over their heads. "What's going on, anyway? It's not like you to be so cryptic."

"Well, maybe I want it to be a surprise." Eren shrugged. It was very dark. The streetlamps were their only friends, and the cool air and the blanket of silence was becoming a little too stifling for Armin's liking. His footsteps echoed vacuously, and he felt everything with a tingling sense of dread.

"That's silly," Armin sighed. "I don't like surprises. Just tell me. Please?"

"No."

"But why…" Armin was growing impatient. The street was dark, and the air was cold, and his vision was still a bit cloudy from sleep. He tossed his flashlight from hand to hand, listening to smack heavily against his palms. "Are we doing something illegal?"

"If I said yes, would you still follow me?"

 _What a weird reply_. Armin frowned, and he ran his thumb over the switch of the flashlight. "You know I would," he said. "I just don't understand why it's all so secretive. It's just me and the wind, Eren. You can say it."

He just kept walking, facing forward as his jaw set, the line of it becoming particularly sharp in the darkness. Armin chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. He didn't quite get it, but he knew something was seriously wrong. With Eren, with the situation. He felt a bit like a man on death row, waiting for the hours to pass until he received his execution, be it lethal injection or the electric chair or hanging or garroting or the firing squad. He was prepared, of course, to face anything for Eren and Mikasa, but it was difficult when he had no idea what to expect.

"Something's happened," Armin observed.

"Nothing's happened."

"Is it your father?"

"Armin…"

They walked side by side, and Armin could feel Eren's body beneath the few layers of cloth that shielded him from the bitter air. There was very little warmth coming from him. Armin interlocked their fingers, and he ignored the way Eren stiffened, and he rubbed the cold, callused skin around his knuckles, desperate to massage blood back into them.

"You know you can tell me anything," Armin whispered.

"Yeah…"

"So talk to me, Eren." Armin was careful not to look at his face. Best not force eye contact, that would just make him more uncomfortable.

"I don't know what to say."

"Start with why you're acting so weird."

"Who the fuck is acting weird?" Eren scoffed. He yanked his hand from Armin's, flexing it a bit, as though Armin's touch was something unusual and foreign, as though he had no idea what warmth felt like and it had burned him. "You're the weird one. Asking all these questions. Quit it."

"You woke me up, so you get to explain," Armin said firmly. "I want to know what's wrong, Eren."

"Nothing's wrong."

"Why are you lying to me?"

"I'm not lying." Eren's voice was flat and strange. His expression was empty.

"You know I know you better than that," Armin sighed. "Come on. Is it Mikasa? Kenny? Did he do something?"

At this, Eren's lips curled back into a sneer. "Fuck him," he spat.

"So it's Kenny. What happened? Is Mikasa okay? Are we running away? What—"

"It's nothing like that," Eren snapped. "Calm down."

Armin wanted to ignore him, to just keep on asking questions, but he imagined that would just piss Eren off. So he kept quiet, watching their sneakers scuff against the sidewalk, shadows shifting beneath the foggy yellow glow of the streetlights. He didn't know where they were going, and every step resonated in his head and his heart, a drumbeat that started slow and began to rapidly increase, viciously pounding through the hollows of Armin's chest.

He was going to fall into the beat and drown in the overflow of percussion.

Eren turned into a familiar alleyway, and Armin followed, watching his back as he moved. He stopped, and he looked around the alley, his eyes shooting between both walls. He looked unsure, his feet dragging as he circled one spot, his breath misting about him. Armin leaned against the wall, half amused and half anxious. He flicked the flashlight on, watching the narrow shaft of white light shoot through the air and pool in a distorted circle upon the alley floor.

Eren was still whirling about, around and around slowly, in an undeniable daze. Armin dragged the beam of the flashlight over him, watching his brown skin glow beneath the rays, and his bright green eyes seemed dull and hollow somehow, narrowed to the point where he seemed to be squinting into the light. He turned his face away, and Armin dragged the light along the rows of bricks, parting a path through the darkness, gliding the light over Eren again and past the entrance of the alleyway where a small, blurry black figure stood. Armin's hand jerked, but when the light returned to that spot, the figure was gone.

Armin didn't realize he was shaking until Eren marched toward him, clapping his hands against the brick wall at both sides of Armin's head. His arms were impossibly long, and Armin realized this was the type of position that he'd been held before, countless times by countless bullies. He found himself sinking back as far as he could against the wall, searching Eren's face.

"What?" Armin whispered. Eren watched him. His eyes were so dull, and his shadow loomed over Armin, yawning and gobbling him up. "Are you trying to intimidate me?"

"Is it working?" Eren asked flatly.

Armin snorted, and he held the flashlight between them, light blinding him and slanting up at the contours of Eren's face, sloping at his nose and hollowing out his eyes.

"You can't scare me," Armin taunted playfully. Eren's chest bumped against his, and Armin realized their breaths were misting together in the pale column of light. It was warm and bleary, the fog of their proximity, the loosening of muscles as Eren's comfort level seemed to rise and his head seemed to fall, and suddenly Armin's heart was beating very hard and his face was flushed, and he watched the grooves of Eren's lips, parched and pallid, as they grew closer and closer and closer.  _You can't scare me_ , Armin thought helplessly, trapped between Eren's arms and Eren's chest and a fucking brick wall. The scary thing wasn't that he was being pinned in place. The scary thing was that he  _wanted_  this. Maybe just once. Just in the dark of this alley, one kiss, and then he could go one with his life like nothing had happened.

"You look pretty scared," Eren muttered. His hands had slid from the wall and landed heavily on Armin's shoulders.

"That's probably just the light playing tricks on you. It exaggerates things like that, you know. Eren, what are you…?" He let his voice trail off as Eren's lips drifted so close to his that all Armin could inhale was the unfurl of white that Eren exhaled. He didn't quite understand what was happening or why, only that this was entirely new and unexpected, and he had to deal with the fact that Eren was millimeters from kissing him.

"I feel funny…" Eren mumbled, his lips brushing Armin's for a quarter of a second, nearly deepening into something resembling a real kiss before Armin turn his face sharply and Eren caught nothing but his jaw. His mouth was scratchy and cool, his lips startlingly quick to murmur vibrations into his skin. "Armin…"

Armin glared out into the darkness behind Eren's protruding shoulder. His breath was hot against Armin's neck, and this was probably the most compromising position he'd ever been in. And now he felt so severely uncomfortable with it that he wanted to scream.

"Do you want me to kiss you?" Armin asked softly.

"Well… kinda…" Eren sighed into the hollow beneath Armin's ear, and Armin swallowed a gasp as Eren's mouth lingered there, kissing the sensitive skin, a slow rhythm of chapped lips and blunt teeth and a quick tongue moving together in sync, a rhapsody of sensation that was admittedly very nice and admittedly kind of hellish. Eren was making an unnecessary amount of noise, necking Armin's skin and nuzzling Armin's hair.

"Eren…" He winced and placed his free hand against the back of Eren's neck. It was just as frigid as the rest of him. "Stop."

And he did. Immediately his lips stopped attempting to suck at his tender skin until blood vessels popped, and immediately he lifted his head, blinking dazedly, confusedly. Armin let his hand sit at the nape of his neck, and he felt suddenly sick and sad, and he wanted to go home. Was this heartache? He'd never really felt anything like this particular hurt until now.

"You don't want to kiss me," Eren clarified. His voice was clearer now. Duller, but clearer.

"Yes… well, no." Armin stared into his eyes, and he smiled vacantly. "It's not right."

"If I want it and you want it, what makes it not right? Because we're both boys?"

He nearly laughed, but he felt too sick to force the reflex. "No, no, it's not that." He closed his eyes, letting the feeling of Eren's breath on his face calm him. "I don't know, Eren," Armin sighed. "My gut is telling me this is wrong. The wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong… you. You sound actually intoxicated right now."

"I'm  _not_  drunk."

"Then stop acting like it." Armin had tried to phrase it as gently as possible, but at this point his words felt venomous.

There were tears in swimming in Eren's dazed eyes, which Armin could not understand for the life of him. Eren refused to say what was on his mind, and as smart as Armin was, he was not a mind reader. He also felt a bit spooked. Like someone was watching them.

He remembered the blurry shadow, and he turn his flashlight toward the alley entrance where the light seemed to fade into the dark.

"Did you see something? Earlier, I mean. Was that why you were looking around like that— hey!" Armin backed up further against the wall as Eren knelt before him. "What are you doing?"

"Am I… interrupting something?" asked a small, high-pitched voice. Armin directed his flashlight immediately toward it, and he was a little relieved and mostly horrified to see the pale hair and sweet face of Historia Reiss.

"No," Eren said.

"Um…" Armin's face felt so hot, he thought he might melt into a puddle in spite of the chill of the air.

"Move," Eren said. Armin looked down at him. "You're in the way."

For just a moment, Armin thought he saw a hazy shadow shifting along Eren's rigid spine. Like a child clinging to his back. In his fright, he jumped away, and Eren immediately began to wrestle a brick from the wall Armin had been leaning against. The very same brick they used to use to communicate sometimes. Armin stared, gaping down at him.

"What the hell…?" he uttered.

"What are you doing here, Armin?" Historia asked. She sounded very tired.

"I could ask you the same thing," he replied in the same tone. His skin felt abnormally warm, and the skin beneath his ear tingled where Eren had kissed and nipped and licked at him. Why had he done that? Why had he crossed that line so suddenly from friendship, making it very apparent that there was probably an attraction there that neither of them really knew or understood? Was it awful that he just wanted to forget it had happened, wipe it away from his mind so it wouldn't eat away at him every time he looked at Eren's face from now on? Perhaps if Armin had kissed him back, perhaps if Armin hadn't said those things, perhaps if Armin had ignored all sense of morality and logic and had just let his feelings out a little bit, then it wouldn't be so bad. But this was how it was. And Eren had definitely pushed the boundaries of their friendship.

Historia did not answer immediately. They both watched Eren drop a note into the hollowed brick he'd wrenched free from the wall. She was wearing a winter coat, something puffy and resistant, dark leggings, and boots. She looked prepared for something. Armin wished he knew what.

"Eren invited me along," she said, watching as Eren slipped the brick back into place.

"Yeah, me too," he admitted. He saw the way her brow furrowed.

"Oh," she said loftily. "That's nice." She didn't ask why Armin hadn't kissed Eren, and she didn't bother bringing up the uncomfortable position they'd been in when she'd decided to speak up. She just nodded to Eren.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Really?" Historia hummed, cocking her head innocently. "Didn't look like nothing!"

"Shut the fuck up."

Eren marched past her, and Armin gaped, feeling an achy hollow spread through his chest. "Eren," he scolded, grabbing his arm and forcing him to a halt. "Why are you being so rude?"

"Listen," Eren said coolly, turning to face him. "You aren't supposed to be here. I don't give a fuck what just happened a few minutes ago, okay? From here on out, you both shut your goddamn mouths."

Armin felt a chill run through him.  _This isn't Eren_ , he thought numbly as his friend whirled away.  _This isn't Eren. What's wrong with him? What did he do? Did he take something he shouldn't have? Should I tell someone?_

But there was no one he could tell. He couldn't tattle on Eren like he'd tattled on Mikasa when he'd been younger.

So he and Historia exchanged the same dull look of horror, and they followed Eren from the alley.

"Do you know what's going on?" he whispered to her as they walked toward the bridge.

She stared ahead of her, and her eyes were bright and luminous even in the crushing darkness. The wind toyed with her pretty blonde hair, and she shrugged. "No idea," she said. Armin suspected she was lying.

"Then do you know what's wrong with Eren, at least?" Armin asked desperately.

"Maybe… he's just tired?" she offered meekly. "It's late, after all."

Armin studied Eren's back, and he shook his head. "No," he sighed. "That's not it."

They walked, her boots and his sneakers tapping in time against the icy pavement. His cheeks were a bit numb. He was rubbing his fingers together to create enough friction to spark warmth within them. His breath rattled, his teeth clenched, and he glowered at Eren's back. He'd figure out what was wrong. He had to understand why Eren was acting this way. It just wasn't like him to be so… awful.

"You must trust him a lot," Historia murmured.

"I do," Armin admitted. He peered at her curiously. "You say that as though it's a bad thing."

"It could be, you know…" She gave a little laugh, and pushed her hair behind her ears. "I mean, we don't really know where he's leading us, do we?"

"The woods, probably."

She blinked at him, her mouth parting. "How'd you figure that out?"

"Well…" Armin sighed. Every step he took made the world a little darker and the air a little thicker and the shadows a little more daunting. "He told me that's where we were going. Also we're literally walking the path on the way to the forest. It doesn't take a rocket scientist, Christa."

"Oh." She blushed furiously, and bowed her head in embarrassment. "My bad! I didn't even notice we were walking this way."

She was a liar, of course. He knew it well, but he never really wanted to bring it up. He knew who she was, and it hurt him to distance himself from the issues he knew she faced, but he didn't have the courage to speak up to her about it. So he watched her flail helplessly in a sea of self-doubt.

"Where's Ymir?" he found himself asking. Historia stiffened. And then, she shrugged, blinking up at him.

"How should I know?" she asked, her voice still ever so sweet and her eyes very wide.

"Well… I mean, I just thought…"

"We're not attached at the hip, you know," she said coldly.

"I know, I just…"

Historia sighed, and she shook her head. She touched his shoulder and gave him a small smile. "It's okay, Armin," she said. "I know what you meant."

He relaxed a little. Her presence was at the very least a comfort. He was anxious to get to whatever Eren wanted to show him and then go home before this took a turn for the worse. Historia hunched, bowing her head, and Armin realized she was shaking.

"Are you cold?" he whispered.

"I'm fine."

Armin bit his tongue. No, he didn't believe that. Even with her heavy coat, she was shuddering, her limbs buckling as though struck every other second, vibrating and drumming with the percussion of the air. She was scared. That had to be it. Armin bit his lower lip, and he scratched his knuckles nervously.

"Hey," he said. "Christa, what do your parents do? You never talk about them."

He was just riling her up. He knew she was the bastard daughter of the prime minister. She didn't know he knew, though, so he had the upper hand.

"My… mom is an artist. My dad works in the government. They've been apart for years. I don't really know him."

"I've never met your mom," Armin said, his interest sparking. "And an artist! That's really cool, I never would've thought! Did you inherit anything from her, do you think?"

"No." Historia smiled up at him gently. "Unfortunately I lack any sort of talent. I'm not particularly good at anything."

"I'm sure that's not true…"

"It is." She shrugged. "I've made my peace with that, I think…"

"Have you ever tried?" Armin drifted closer to her. She'd stopped shaking, and she smiled dimly at her shoes as they scraped against the dirt path that led into the woods. Wind wailed in his ears, tugging at their pale hair and dragging it nimbly across the darkened wilderness.

"I try things and I'm terrible at them. It's just how it goes. What about your parents, Armin? What do they do?"

She knew full well his parents were dead.

"Will you two stop talking for two seconds?" Eren asked from a few feet ahead. "I thought I heard something."

"Spooky," Historia whispered. She smiled big and bright. "Maybe it's a ghost!"

Eren shot her a chilly glare. It frightened Armin out of his skin, and he grabbed Historia by the arm, yanking her back. He felt like he needed to run. Now. Everything in him was screaming to get away from Eren, and that was the scariest thing of all.  _You can't scare me_ , he'd said. But it wasn't true. Not anymore.

Armin squeezed Historia's arm.

"You should go home," he whispered into her ear, ducking his head low so his lips grazed her hair. His voice was barely a breath. Eren couldn't have heard it. She shook her head against his mouth. "Christa, please, he's not okay right now. I'm scared."

"Well I'm not." She shrugged him off, shoving him as hard as her little arms dared. "You go home, if that's what you're worried about."

"You're a liar," Armin told her sharply. "Do you think you're fooling me with that false bravado, Christa? You're shaking so badly that your legs look ready to snap. Give me a break! You're scared as hell, and you know it."

She exhaled, and it was a plume of mist that enveloped her beautiful face, curling around her dull blue eyes as she smiled vacantly.

"If you get in the way," she whispered, tears in her eyes, "they might kill you."

"What?" Armin leaned back. "What are you talking about?"

She laughed at him, and she started forward, hugging her arms and shrugging. "I don't know, Armin. I don't know anything. Just go home."

"No way!" He jogged up to meet her, glancing around at the arching trees, the wavering skeletons of branches and the yawning darkness where every fear inside him poured out into a river of lurking monsters approaching rapidly. He calmed himself. He was being silly. "What did you mean? Who might kill me?"

"You ask so many questions," Eren muttered. He was hunched ahead of them, walking at a quick pace. He looked as though he was trying to leave them behind.

"Maybe because neither of you make any sense right now." Armin huffed. "I'm confused, and it feels like you two brought me out here to murder me."

Historia barked a laugh. It was sour and soft, the sound like vinegar, if vinegar produced sound waves.

"That's not why you're here."

"Why  _is_  he here?" Historia shot Armin a sharp glance, and he stared right back, his jaw grinding in frustration.

"Why are you talking?" Eren stopped and whirled to face her. He pointed an accusatory finger in her face. "I may not be able to kill you, but I can make your life hellish if you piss me off, girl. So listen good. You're gonna shut your fucking mouth and stop rattling off to him." Eren jerked his chin toward Armin, his cold green eyes never rising to his face. "You think your life's tough shit, huh? Must be hard being such a heartless, spineless bitch. Come on, little girl. Why don't you go find out what real pain is?"

Historia stood rigidly. She was shaking again. Armin thought she might fall down, so he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She leaned back against him, and he realized she was crying.

"Eren," he snapped. "Shut up! You're scaring her to death!"

"God." Eren pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't make me regret bringing you, kid. I'm tired, and I can barely think straight right now. Be grateful I'm awake."

"Maybe you should go to bed," Armin suggested, "and sleep off that awful attitude you've got."

"Do I have an attitude?" Eren rolled his eyes. "I'm just fucking irritated. God, where is that stupid girl, anyway?"

"Are you talking about  _Mikasa_?" Armin found that he was furious. "Don't call her stupid! What's wrong with you, Eren?"

"You're just making this worse for yourself, you know," Historia whispered, her voice thick. She leaned further against Armin, and when Eren bared his teeth at her, she turned and buried her face in Armin's chest.

"For once," he said in a dull voice, "I know exactly what I'm doing."

Armin patted Historia's head gently, feeling as though someone had dropped a child on his doorstep that he had no idea how to take care of. Maybe that was just what Historia was. A child who'd been neglected and forced to mend herself a personality out of stray ones she found lying around. He rubbed her head and let her hug him, because he felt somewhat responsible for her wellbeing.

"You can admit you're scared," he whispered to her. "I won't judge you. I'm scared too."

"Of course you're scared." She sniffed, wiping at her eyes furiously. "You have no clue what's happening."

"And whose fault is that?"

She sighed, leaning heavily against him. "I want to go home," she admitted.

"Then go home."

"I can't," she whispered. "I can't, I…"

"Mikasa!" Eren cut from the path and into the woods, darting between trees and forcing Historia and Armin to dash after him, looping around and over branches, gasping and tripping and blinking confusedly through the darkness. He realized he'd forgotten all about the flashlight he'd kept a firm grip on since the alleyway incident. He flicked the flashlight on and turned the cool shaft of light onto Eren's back, pulling Historia closer and jerking his chin.

"You know where he's going?" he asked breathlessly. She was watching the ground, her jaw tight and her eyes dim. She offered a shrug, and they kept going, climbing over roots and navigating through the bleak early morning fog. It was thin and wispy, light bouncing off the shivering tendrils and then bursting through them.

They jogged up to Eren, panting heavily and leaning on each other for support. The flashlight quivered in his numb hands, light fumbling up and down and shuddering across the boards of the old wooden shack they'd come upon. It looked vaguely familiar. Had Armin been here before?

"Armin?" Mikasa sounded surprised. He turned the light toward her, and it spilt across her face, illuminating her dark eyes and thick lips. She was dressed appropriately, a beige coat hugging her tightly, tufts of fur peeking out from the lining, faded, stretched out old jeans stained with mud and paint, and a pair of sturdy combat boots. "I didn't know you were coming."

"It was kind of a last minute thing," he said, throwing a glance at Eren. He was peering at the shed, his gait awkward and his shoulders hunched. He glowered at it, and Armin let the light slide over its face, across the splintered wood and the peeling paint, across the rusty door handle and porous structure, across the veins of ivy that snuck along the foundation of the dilapidated shack, clawing its way upward toward the sloped roof.

"I almost didn't come," she admitted. She was leaning against the door of the shed, her tired eyes moving between the three of them. "Kenny was giving me hell all day. I thought it'd be too obvious if I snuck out."

"Obviously it all worked out," Historia chirped. Eren glanced at her. He looked irritated.

"I guess…" Mikasa's eyes narrowed at her. "Why are you here?"

Nobody scolded her for being rude. Armin expected Eren to immediately snap at her for the comment, to defend his choice to bring Historia along, but he didn't say a word. He merely watched Mikasa with heavily lidded eyes, and he looked a bit high or intoxicated, like he was hardly even really there.

"Eren asked me to come along," Historia said quietly, looking down at her feet. "Sorry if I'm intruding."

"No, it's not a big deal." Mikasa relaxed a little, as though she had only needed Eren's opinion to unwind her. "I was just confused."

"Eren said he had something to show us," Historia said without looking up.

"Yeah, Eren." Armin tilted his head. "What did you want to show us?"

Eren looked uncomfortable to have all their eyes on him. Soundlessly, he pointed to the shed, his dull eyes narrowing. Mikasa moved from the entrance, and Historia quickly stepped up to check the doorknob. It made a grinding sort of whine, as though it was in some vicious agony, and Armin watched rust flake from the curved metal, coughing into the chilly night air and dispersing. Historia yanked, and she groaned.

"This is heavy!" she gasped, slamming her palm against the wood and digging her heels into the ground. It was almost a comedic sight. Armin smiled a little.

"Let me," Mikasa said, touching her shoulder. Historia looked up at her, eyes big and hair askew, falling in scraggly lines across her angelic face.

"You sure?" she asked, blowing the strands from her eyes. She'd already let go, and Mikasa nodded, scooting her aside.

She took hold of the handle, testing it for a moment with her grip loose and her finger clenching and unclenching. She took off her leather racing gloves, tucking them beneath her arm, and she began again. Then she rolled her shoulders and pulled, the handle giving a screech in vicious objection and the hinges wailing in shock and the wood weeping as it creaked and moaned, unused to being moved in this stark weather. It was apparently truly heavy, because the moment she opened it a crack she grappled with it, attempting to pry it open with her fingers. As she flung it open, her hand slipped and skidded down the inside of the door. She gasped in pain and withdrew her hand, stumbling back and blinking rapidly.

"Mikasa!" Armin cried, rushing to her side as she cradled her hand. He held the flashlight over her palm, and he watched blood bubble up along a nasty, ragged looking gash that had torn through her skin. Armin felt sick merely observing it, the way the crimson liquid congealed and pooled around her skin, turning black as it gathered in the creases of her palms and overflowed down her wrist and along her knuckles, sliding in fast rivulets until it dripped steadily toward the ground.

"Shit," Armin swore, his voice vibrating against his aching throat. "We need to get her to a doctor right now! Eren, your dad—"

"The river," he cut in. Armin stared at him with wide eyes. "We can wash the cut in the river."

An absurdly loud ripping sound broke across the air, and Armin turned the beam of the flashlight toward Historia's face. She'd unzipped her jacket to reveal a pretty cotton shirt, the kind that was very fashionable with its high collar and shapeless frame. She'd ripped the seam and torn a great strip of cloth. Then after she yanked that from the rest of the shirt, she rolled the strip around her knuckle and began to rip some more, this time bearing her midriff to them, her bony hips jutting out from beneath the band of her leggings and her bellybutton visible beneath the jagged white remains of her shirt.

She took this chunk of cloth and bunched it up, walking up to Mikasa and pressing it to her palm. Mikasa winced, hissing through her teeth in pain, but Historia just ignored her, applying more pressure and letting the blood soak into the cloth. Armin just stood by and watched. Eren just stood by.

"Thanks…" Mikasa whispered as Historia wiped up as much blood as she could. Then, much to Armin's disgust, she stuck the blood soaked cloth between her teeth in order to tie the clean strip around Mikasa's palm, nimbly and efficiently bandaging the wound and tying it off before the blood pooled again. The stench was something awful, rust burning away in the harsh night air.

"That needs to be washed," Historia said firmly, dropping the bloody cloth into her hand. Her lips and the skin around her mouth were smeared red.

"The river," Eren said. He turned from them and stalked away through the trees. Armin just stood, feeling sick to his stomach and bemused. Mikasa followed him solemnly.

"Mikasa," he called after her. "Maybe we should just go to the emergency room."

"And tell them what?" Mikasa glanced at him. "Armin… Kenny can't know I snuck out."

"But…"

"I know you mean well," Mikasa sighed, "but this is just a little scrape. I'll be fine."

 _That is not a little scrape_ , he thought furiously as she followed Eren quickly, matching his steps and navigating easily into the darkness. Historia was standing with her head bowed, staring down at the stained red cloth. Blood was visible along her mouth. It gave her a clown-like smile. A Joker.

Armin turned toward the shed. Something didn't add up here.

Historia didn't object when he kicked the shed door open. A snapped cord dragged across the dusty floor, leading all the way up to the doorknob. When Armin shined his flashlight into the shed, the shadows rose and the objects became clear. Normal things, fishing hooks and tackle boxes and tennis rackets… and a coiled up cord tied about a locked trap door. Armin felt as though he'd been baited and trapped.

When he looked on the inside of the shed door, he saw that someone had duct-taped a razor blade against the edge. When he flicked the light onto it, it was gleaming with fresh blood, droplets running smoothly down the splintery door. Armin backed away very slowly.

He backed right into Historia.

"Sorry…" she mumbled. He whirled around to face her, and she watched him with dead eyes. "I'm sorry… I'm…"

"What the fuck is happening?" he snapped at her. "What is this? This feels really fucking serial killery, and I'm not really in the mood to die!"

She sighed. She licked her lips, her bloody red lips, her teeth gleaming behind them, stained and streaked crimson in some places. She laughed. She flung her head back, tears glistening in her eyes, and she wrung Mikasa's blood out into the dirt, the sound like rain overflowing from a gutter and cascading into the sidewalk. It pattered and puddled.

"Christa!" Armin grabbed her shoulders and shook her very hard. She blinked at him, tears streaking her face, and she dropped the cloth.

"I didn't want to," she whispered, shaking and shaking and shaking. Armin nodded, not really understanding, and he looked down at where the cloth landed. It was right beside one of Mikasa's leather gloves, but Armin could not see the other glove anywhere. It didn't really matter.

"I'm going to take you to a hospital," he told her. "Okay? I'll stay with you. It'll be okay."

She was shaking. She was shaking so badly, sniffling and choking and looking like she was about to vomit.

"Idiot," she exhaled, her shoulders relaxing. She stared glumly ahead at him. "You know… you know… you're really gullible." She wiped her eyes, smearing a masked of blood around the hollows. "All I had t-to do…. is just cry a little… and you're completely willing to do anything for me."

"What?" Armin scowled at her. "Was that display just now really fake? No. I don't think so. You're still shaking."

"W-what… can I say?" She let out a soft, bitter laugh that was more like a sob. "My only talent is being disgusted and disgusting." She sniffed, and she jerked her chin. "Mikasa's about to drown. You might be able to… to stop it…" She shivered, and she doubled over, holding her stomach. Armin gaped. She moaned. "Gross… so gross…"

"Drown…?" He backed away without even meaning to. "Oh… oh god, okay… I'll be right back—!"

"I'm coming," Historia said firmly, standing up straighter. "I need to be there when it happens. Technically."

"When what happens?" Armin asked confusedly.

"When Mikasa dies." Historia stuck close to him as they both walked forward. "So she's still alive now, I… I think…" She shivered. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

Armin walked very slowly, the sound of his feet dragging against the forest floor the only sound drifting between them. Leaves crumbled and twigs snapped, and the wind sang around them, attempting to lift them off their feet but proving far too weak. There was a knot inside his stomach the size of a fist, fear claiming him and smashing itself into his chest over and over and over, making it difficult to breath.

Mikasa couldn't die. What was Historia even saying?

They didn't really know where they were going. It was difficult to wind around all the fat, twisted tree trunks, even with the flashlight. The woods were too thick and the air was too cold and the ground was too uneven. Armin didn't know where they were going. His instincts screamed to run, to run as far and as fast as he possibly could, but he knew he couldn't.

Maybe if he just emptied his mind he could pretend that this was all just a bad dream, a bad dream, and the paranoia that swept along with the bite of the wind was just a passing anxiety, something that could be ignored. That this wasn't so scary.

He could feel the change in the air, a heavy weight pressing into him that told him that this was all wrong, that everything was all wrong, and he was all wrong, and that was just how it was going to be from here on out. This was the taste of the world shifting beneath his feet. This was the sky cracking open and the mountains turning to dust.

"There," Historia whispered pointing past the tall, angled trees, an arch of awkward, spindly branches. She'd stopped walking, leaning heavily against a tree and staring vacantly through the arc of trees. Armin saw Mikasa and Eren standing there, their silhouettes long and distorted. He took a deep breath, holding his hands out toward Historia to signal her to stay put. Then he ran up the incline, jogging with his heart on a wire, empty sounds pounding in his head, like the bite of the air and the distant echo of creaky branches, turning to symphonies in his brain.

"Guys!" He stumbled, and he doubled over, breathing very heavily with his hands planted on his knees. As he panted, he knew they watched him with unsettling eyes, uneasy gazes. He looked up, and shining the flashlight onto them, and he saw Mikasa's face streaked with tears.

"Mikasa…?" He stood up straight. All three of them were standing on a flat gray rock, a large platform that seemed to extend out into a cliff. There was a chasm only meters from where they stood. Adrenaline captured Armin, bursting through him and netting his veins.

"Why did you bring him along?" she whispered, pain glowing in her eyes. Eren said nothing. She shook and she shook and she shook, not unlike Historia, and she shot him a furious look. "You're weak, and you're selfish, and I'm sick of you."

"Are those the last words you want to say to us?" Eren asked in a cold, empty voice.

She bristled. She stood up straighter, lifting her chin at him. "I'm sorry," she said very loudly, her voice breaking and her smile tight. "I guess I just don't care anymore."

Armin's mouth was wide open, and he tried to find the words, tried to ask what was happening, but in his mind he'd already half-figured it out. It was too late, though. Eren kicked her off her feet, and she yelped, stumbling and crashing to the ground, her body sliding over the head of the rock and her arms flailing, grappling desperately for purchase. She was half over the edge, her fingernails digging into the smooth gray surface, and she dipped her head against the rock, sobbing and gasping and muttering something inaudible.

"Mikasa!" Armin shrieked, rushing forward to help her. Eren stepped between them. Armin stared at his face, at the way his eyes sunk into his head, hollow and dead, and the way he seemed to hunch and slump like a marionette dragging against its strings. "What the fuck, Eren? Why would you do that? What's wrong, why would you…? How could you…?"

"I guess," Eren said flatly, "I'm just to weak to resist."

"That's not a fucking answer!" Tears stung Armin's eyes. "What is  _wrong_  with you? What  _happened_?"

Mikasa was still struggling to get a hold of the rock. Armin shot her a fearful glance. She wouldn't be able to hold on for much longer. She looked too scared of loosing her position to drag herself back up.

"It's laughable," Eren said, letting his head drop to the side, his eyes growing wider and his lips cracking into a humorless grin. "Your little stint at friendship? You don't even know the people you call your friends. What's wrong with  _you_?" Eren stepped backwards and stomped on Mikasa's injured hand. Her scream cracked across the air, a bullet uncasing, and it echoed in rapid succession of agonizes cries through the air, like a thousand birds screeching. "You don't know who your friends are, and you don't even fucking know how much they hate themselves! You're such a joke. Over and over these people just lie to you, say they're okay, consider your fragile little feelings, and you believe it because you're scared of dealing with the truth. Well here it is, Armin. Here's your truth."

"Stop," Armin gasped, tears blinding his vision. He'd dropped his flashlight. The darkness was curling around them, and Eren's words and Eren's face didn't match.

"But isn't this what you wanted?" Eren taunted. "To understand? Well, here you go. This is the truth. Your friends are just as awful and fucked up as you are. More so, even. But that's not really what you want to hear. You want to be the weak one. It's easier that way, isn't it? Being the one protected from the brutality of truth."

"N-no…" Armin squeezed his eyes shut. "You're wrong, I… I don't…"

"You block out anything that makes you uncomfortable," Eren said coolly. "You'll block this out too, I bet. It's not like Mikasa was blindsided by this, you know. She knew this was going to happen. Eren knew this was going to happen. Historia knew. But you? You just didn't want to accept that your entire life, your shitty little friendships, that they're all a great big fucking  _lie_." He ground his heel into Mikasa's hand, and her shrill, agonized shriek ripped through Armin's mind.

"Stop it," he gasped, stumbling forward. "Stop it, stop it,  _stop it_!"

He shoved Eren, smashing his hands into his chest, his eyes squeezed shut and a sob escaping his lips. He expected Eren to just shove back, but he didn't. He was too close to the cliff.

Armin opened his eyes in time to see Eren stumble right off the edge, his dull green eyes suddenly alive and confused, terror transforming his face as his lips moved in half a question. "Arm—?"

Armin screamed as Eren plummeted.

He ran to the edge, just in time to hear the meaty smack of something hitting a rock below, the kind of ugly sound that echoed in his head over and over and over. Armin didn't even know if Eren had hit the water. He dropped to his knees, his heart gone and his body locked and his mind frozen over.

Mikasa tried to let go, push herself off the edge, but he dragged her up, forcing her to live and accept the consequences with him. She curled up on her side, breathing heavily, quaking so badly that he thought she might break her back from spasms. He sat on his knees, trying to understand what he'd just done, the enormity of what he'd just done.

"I didn't mean to…" He whispered, running his hands over his face.  _Oh god_ , he thought,  _oh god, oh god, oh god_ …

Eren had to be alive, right? Injured, but… but alive! He had to be!

Armin lurched to his feet. "Christa!" he gasped, whirling around. She was standing only a meter or so away, her mouth parted and her expression dazed. He rushed up to her, scooping his flashlight from the ground and shoving it in her hands. "Go get help. An ambulance, the police, anyone! Hurry, he might still be—!"

Mikasa shoved him aside. Armin staggered away, gaping at her. She'd risen from her shaky, weepy slump, and now her expression was hard and dangerous. She grabbed Historia by the front of her coat.

"Listen to me," she hissed, leaning very close. "You go home. You don't speak a word of this to anyone. You lie your way out of this, and you don't dare even think about what happened here again. And if you say something you shouldn't, Christa… I'll kill you." Mikasa shoved her away, and Historia stumbled, gasping and gaping. She nodded furiously, turning fast and running into the cover of trees.

"Why did you do that…?" Armin brushed his bangs from his forehead, tears rushing down his cheeks. "Are you fucking serious? Eren needs a doctor!"

"Don't trust her," Mikasa told him simply. She studied the cliff for a moment, and she took a deep breath. "I'm climbing down."

"Are you kidding?" Armin was angry and incredulous. "Are you fucking kidding me? Mikasa, please… don't—!"

But she was already carefully lowering herself along the cliff, and Armin shook his head, his stomach knotting up, tears sweeping him away. He tried to watch her climb down, but soon the darkness just covered her up. So he did the only thing he could think of. He ran back into the woods, dashing through the scraggly looking trees and clambering over trunks, skidding down inclines, until he could hear the soft roar of the river.

He let himself skid down the side of the riverbank, his fingers clawing long lines into the dirt and softened clay. His sneakers hit the surface of the water, splashing cool droplets up Armin's legs. He shuddered, holding his head and breathing deeply. Mud smeared along his temple, along his jaw, stripes cold dirt clammy against his skin. He struggled along the bank of the river, slippery rocks eluding him, and thrice he went crashing down, skidding into the traps of jutting boulders and hollows in earthy river floor.

He lost a shoe and scraped himself so many times that he found it difficult to stand. There was mud everywhere, clinging to his arms and legs and imbedded in the fibers of his jeans, and the water was so cold, so icy and vicious that it pricked and sliced its way through his skin and through his muscles and into his bones until it replaced his marrow, washing it away deliberately, forcefully, never once considering that he might need to move.

When he finally clambered his way to the pass that led to Titan's Maw, he didn't really know how to function. Everything hurt. He was muddy and a little bloody and sick to death of the frigid air. He thought about Eren, about the way he'd acted before this, and he knew that he could not have been in his right mind. Drugs alone couldn't be the answer. It went deeper than that.

Armin pushed himself to his limits. He trudged through the pass, clinging to the slick, rocky walls, and he hissed when he staggered through the waterfall. Knives delivered themselves into his brain, stabbing gently, rapidly, fiercely, lovingly…

He shook his hair out furiously, exhaling and holding his head. Mud and blood dribbled into his eyes. He swayed as his eyes adjusted to the frothy pool, the current bubbling up around his ankles. Eren's body was drifting several meters away. Moonlight shimmered on the rippling surface.

The sight made him buckle to his knees.  _He can't be dead_ , he thought wildly,  _he can't be, he can't be, he can't be!_

Armin sat on his knees, water seeping through his jeans and spitting in his face, disgusting with his horror, washing mud from his flesh and depositing more just the same. He didn't know what to do now. He supposed he would have to tell the police what had happened. He'd probably beg to be locked up at this point. Eren was just floating there. Maybe he didn't feel it. Maybe he felt okay. Maybe it was all okay. Maybe it was okay. Maybe…

There was a splash, and Armin jolted into some semblance of lucidity. Someone had jumped from the cliffs, and a small wave rippled through Titan's Maw, lapping at his stomach. Eren's body rocked meagerly, and Armin watched as Mikasa swam with great ease, scissoring through the water and latching onto Eren.

Armin stood up shakily, his body rejecting the movement, and he moved as close as he dared to where he knew the ground dropped into an underwater chasm. Mikasa dragged Eren toward Armin, splashing furiously, and Armin silently prayed, not really knowing what he was praying to, just begging, begging the universe to give him this one little thing. He'd never ask for anything again in his entire life.

Mikasa pushed Eren up onto a rock, and Armin helped drag him out, languishing in how heavy his body seemed to be, how it felt like dead weight. Mikasa lifted herself from the ravine, dripping and shivering, her teeth chattering audibly, and she flipped Eren over. Armin inhaled sharply, and he felt vomit burn the back of his throat.

The entire left side of Eren's head was smeared crimson. His hair was black and clumped against his forehead, water clinging to his blood-caked skin. His eyes were open, staring up glassily into the sky. Armin forced his eyes from Eren's face only to glance upward, to try and see what he might be seeing, but the sky was a bit overcast and the moon was the only light in sight, a dim crescent.

"Eren," Mikasa whispered desperately, touching his face. She turned to look at Armin, her hair snaking along her cheeks and across her throat, looking about ready to devour her whole head. "Armin… he…"

"He drowned."

Mikasa's eyes widened. She glanced back down at Eren's corpse. There was water overflowing from his parted lips.

"Oh…" She slumped. They sat like that, Eren lying between them, water tickling his cooling corpse.

"I killed him," Armin whispered.

Mikasa looked up at him sharply. She reached over Eren, her cold, bloody hands covering his. "This was not your fault," she told him firmly. Her voice shook, but she seemed so sure, so overwhelmingly positive. "You shouldn't have even been part of this."

"What happened, Mikasa?" Armin whispered, his lips quivering. "What was this?"

"A ritual," she murmured.

"A…?" Armin felt so sick.

"It was supposed to be me…" she breathed. Her eyes looked dead as she looked upon Eren's bloody face. "Armin… I was supposed to die… but you saved me."

"No, I…" He tore his hands from hers. "I don't get it, I… I can't understand why Eren would— would ever try to hurt you!"

"It wasn't really Eren talking…" She wasn't crying, but her voice was tense and stricken. "Armin… what Eren said to you… that wasn't him. I need you to know that. He'd never say something like that to you, and nothing that was said was true. This was all just a huge mistake."

"I don't understand…" he mumbled, shaking his head furiously. "I killed him! I… I don't know why you don't hate me! I just… I pushed him without even thinking, Mikasa!"

"I know," she said gently. "It's okay. It's going to be okay."

"How?" Armin sobbed, dropping his face into his muddy, bloody hands. "How could anything be okay without Eren?"

"I'll make it okay." When Armin peeked through his hands, he saw Mikasa close Eren's eyes and heft his body over her shoulders.  _She's so strong_ , he thought, mesmerized. She carried Eren's body through the pass, and Armin sat for a moment in the silence, staring out into Titan's Maw.

This was where he'd killed Eren.

This was where the world had ended.

He stood up. His knees were wobbly and his breath was short, but he ducked under the waterfall and didn't turn back. Everything in him felt like glass being held under high pressure. He was about to snap.

He followed Mikasa slowly. She carried Eren through the darkened river, careful and lithe and unbelievably strong. It wasn't really hitting him yet. The fact that Eren was dead. It really just… didn't seem like a reality.

The water splashed and guttered, and Armin stumbled and coughed and clutched his chest, feeling as though a heavy weight was pressing into his ribs and forcing the blood to exude from his lungs, filling them up until the blood washed into his throat and burnt the back of his tongue, metallic and stinging.

They climbed up onto the bank and wandered back into the woods. Armin's one bare foot sunk heavily into the dirt. He was completely drenched, completely covered in mud, and he felt so awful he could barely breathe. Let alone think.

Mikasa gingerly set Eren's body down, somewhere in the heart of the woods. Armin didn't know where they were. He was dizzy and dazed. Eren was so pale and so… so limp and bloody… it just… it just…

It just wasn't right.

Mikasa smoothed out Eren's clothing, tugging his shirt down so it wasn't riding up his chest, and she sighed.

"I'll be right back," she said. "Stay here. Do not do anything stupid. Okay?"

Armin nodded mutely. He was staring at Eren's face, at the dirt clinging to his pores, at the blood drying on his cheeks. She left him there with Eren's corpse, and Armin felt the need to put as much distance as possible between him and the body. The body.  _The body_.

Armin clapped his hands over his mouth to keep from retching.

He was alone. In the woods. With a body. A dead body. A dead body of a boy who'd been Armin's best friend for years and years.

A dead body of a boy who Armin had killed.

A dead body of a boy who Armin had loved.

It just wasn't right!

"I'm sorry," Armin whispered, burying his face in his knees. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm… sorry…"

He looked almost small now. In death, Eren seemed to look younger than his age, like a child, lying on the ground and not worrying about the world or the future. Because the world had ended and he had none.

Armin wanted them to switch places.

Armin wanted to be the dead one.

It was just what was right.

He didn't want to know or understand or see the truth any longer.

He just wanted none of this to have happened.

Mikasa returned, and he did not move. He just sat like that as she set to work with a spade, the sound of the shovel hitting the earth, gathering dirt, expelling it, grinding itself into Armin's brain until there was nothing left inside his skull but that repetitive sound.

She stopped. She looked to Armin. Eren's body was between them again.

"Why are you cleaning up my mess?" Armin asked her.

His voice was flat and he'd resigned to this emptiness that had torn through him.

"Because it's my mess too," she replied, knee deep in a hole. She had to dig deeper. They both knew it. Armin was wondering about evidence. He noted that she'd brought a jug of gasoline. He had to think about it. Where she'd gotten it. But now that his senses were numb, logic was returning. It was for boats. Left in that shed for anyone to use.

Armin was worried about Mikasa's blood at the shed. Her blood on the shovel.

"Mikasa," he said. "You're leaving your DNA everywhere."

"That's okay."

"No it's not," Armin said vacantly. "It'll trace back to you, you know."

"Yes, I know."

The sound of sifting dirt stretched through the air. Armin watched her muscles work beneath her sagging coat. She was shivering. They'd both be sick to death from hypothermia at this rate.

Armin didn't know what to do.

"It's okay," she said, climbing out of the hole she'd made. She strolled over to him easily, crouching down before him and taking his face in her hands. He realized he was crying again. The tears were hot on his numb cheeks. "I'll protect you. No matter what happens now, no matter how bad things get, that will be true."

"I just…" Armin squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't want you to… to get hurt… because of something I did… I…"

"It wasn't your fault," she whispered, running her dirty fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry, Armin. This never should have happened. Just pretend none of this ever happened. Okay?"

"Pretend… like it never happened?" Armin tasted that idea. It was enticing. Addicting. He ached for it.

"Yes," Mikasa said, kissing his damp hair. And then his temple. And then his cheek.

She kissed his mouth, and he was numb.

They were both so numb.

He couldn't feel anything anymore.

She broke away, but he didn't feel that either. He shut down.

Suddenly there was a dead body between them.

It'd be like that for a long, long time.


	16. Chapter 16

**friends in life and death**

It was difficult to understand things when everything seemed to be happening behind the scenes. He felt as though there were two different worlds. His life— with all its joy and all its love and all its comfort— and the ugly underbelly. He heard his father speaking in soft tones, knowing things, ignoring things, never admitting to anything. It made his mother worried. It made his mother cry.

So maybe he didn't trust a word his father said.

Maybe he didn't trust anyone at all.

He didn't know. He just felt as though there was something rotten floating in the air, and it made it hard to breathe.

He'd been fortunate— or maybe a little unfortunate— to be awake that night. He'd been sitting at his desk, chewing anxiously at the rubbery edge of a stubby pink eraser, bitter shavings brushing his tongue. The fat, glowing numbers on the digital clock beside his unmade bed screamed the time. Three in the morning. The witching hour. He chewed thoughtfully on the eraser, yellow lamplight pooling across his face. He spotted his reflection in the smooth black surface of his window. His face was round and dark, burnt umber from the yellowish light, and his hair fell in tangled, matted brown curls across his brow.

There was a map of the whole world on his desk. He was circling all the places he wanted to visit.

So far, uneven penciled circles marked up Germany, Japan, Turkey, Greece, Egypt, New York (he'd decided he only really wanted to see the Statue of Liberty, and then he could leave), India, China, and Italy. He pulled the pencil from between his teeth, and he wiped the saliva off on his flannel pajama pants. This was hard. How could he put a limit on all the places he wanted to see? And anyway, wouldn't this all cost money? Crap, Eren hadn't thought of that.

A car door shut softly from outside. Eren jumped. If he had been sleeping, he probably wouldn't have heard it. He sat for a moment, thinking very hard.  _Did dad go out again?_  he thought angrily. After what had happened last time? No way. Eren wouldn't accept it. He couldn't deal with anymore shouting. Anymore questions. He couldn't deal with the secrecy any longer.

He got up and wandered to his window. His face grew clearer in the smooth reflective surface, his eyes large and bright as he peered out into the road below. There was a car parked outside his gate. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he noted dark forms crossing his lawn. A large, towering figure. And a very small one. He stood frozen for a moment. He yanked his curtains shut, hunching defensively as his heart began to pound. Burglars? No! No way! Who'd want to steal from them? Their computer was like, ten thousand years old! Probably from the  _nineties_! They might as well just take it.

He ran to his door, making as little noise as possible as he pulled it open. It hardly even creaked. He stuck his head out into the hall, blinking into the darkness. He slipped out of his room, shutting the door behind him, and he tip toed across the hallway to his parents' room. The door was open, so all he needed to do was peer into it. He saw his mother's sleeping form, her hair pooling across her pillow. But in the darkness, as his eyes adjusted, he knew that there was no one sleeping beside her. His fists clenched at his side.

He calmly shut the door. He didn't want her to have to wake up to an empty bed.

There were quiet, muffled voices drifting from the foyer. Eren heard the front door shut, and he wondered when it had been opened. He moved quickly, his tiny feet sticking to the polished hard wood, soft sucking sounds the only sign of his presence as his bare feet padded across the floor. He made it to the stairs, and he crouched down onto one, curling into the steep space between steps. He knew he wouldn't be scene between the swirling bars that supported the railing. He peered between them, down into the living room, his eyes angled so he had a full view of the foyer and front door.

His father was there, standing in a robe with his arms folded across his chest. His glasses were askew, and he was scowling at another man. This man was very tall and very lanky, his face sunken and his hair limp, black, and formless. His entire body language screamed that he was barren of life and emotion. At his side, there was a little girl.

Eren recognized her immediately.

Christa. She'd only recently transferred to his school, but before that she'd been Historia. From the city. He didn't really get the difference, but he called her Christa now because that was what she'd called herself, and he had to respect that. He didn't really care. It was her business.

But why was she here? In his house?

Was this about that girl? The one who'd killed herself?

His father had told him not to talk about it.

"But isn't she—?" Eren had pointed to the girl's picture in the paper a few weeks ago, and his father had folded it up and tossed it in the trash.

"No," his father told him sharply. "We don't know her. Understand?"

"Ugh, fine, whatever!" He'd stomped up to his room. He didn't get it.

Eren gripped the metal spires, and he pressed his face as close as he dared to the railing.  _What are you hiding, dad?_

"I told you," he heard his father say flatly. "I told you I want nothing to do with this."

"Yeah, well, you clearly wanted in before, so now you're in." The man's voice was ugly and gruff, like he'd gargled marbles. Eren stared at his face, his eyes narrowing. Bad vibes. Really bad vibes. Eren could sense it from him. He looked like one of those faces, the kind you see on the news or in the paper, with the big bold headlines blaring SERIAL KILLER STRIKES AGAIN. He was bland and eerie and Eren's hair stood on end just being within meters of him.

"My wife is home," his father whispered fiercely. "My  _child_." And his eyes flashed to Christa at that point. His eyes softened. "What have you done to this girl, Kenny? She's covered in blood."

"I only did what I had to," Kenny answered. "It's not like her mother gave a fuck. When I picked the kid up, that woman didn't so much as glance my way."

"Parents who don't care about their children's well beings are just disgusting," said Eren's father loftily, "don't you think?"

"Ouch," Kenny snorted. "I'm sorry I'm not father of the fucking year like  _you,_  Grisha. Now, do you want in or not? Because if not, I'm just gonna deposit this little bitch back to her vegetable of a mother."

"No, I want to know what you've done. Sit down." Grisha gestured to a couch offhandedly. He crouched before Christa, and he gave her a gentle smile. Eren could only see her back, but he saw that she was wearing a white night gown, and her bare feet were blackened. Dirt ran all the way up to her calves and disappeared beneath the hem of the gown. "Historia, honey, do you remember me?"

She was quiet. Then, Eren watched her head bow and lift. A stiff nod.

"Okay. Do you trust me?"

Her hair rustled around her shoulders as her head snapped from side to side. A fierce no.

Eren glowered. What had happened to her?

Grisha sighed, and he stood upright. "You really did some damage on her, Kenny," he said flatly. "Please don't tell me you did what I think you did."

"Well, if I did that, then I'd be lying," Kenny said, dropping into a seat. He gave a shrug.

"She's a child!" Grisha shot Christa a vague glance.

"And by the time we're done, she'll be a woman, so who cares?"

"And who did you use?" Grisha eyed Kenny curiously. "From all that I've read, the bloodlines have to match up. Did you even think of that?"

"Of course," Kenny said. "I've already planned out my three sacrifices, thank you."

 _Sacrifices?_  Eren gaped. What was he even hearing? This reminded him of when he'd met Christa. But even then he hadn't understood it. Was this what his father was hiding? Sacrifices? Like…  _human sacrifices_?

Christa turned. Eren's eyes widened in horror. Her mouth was bright red, blood smothering her lips and chin and dragging down her neck. Her eyes were dull and dead. Eren was suddenly terrified. He pressed his palms to his mouth to stop his breath, to keep them all from hearing his heavy breathing.

"Check it out." Kenny held up a golden locket, a smear of red staining its front. He tossed it to Eren's father, who caught it and held it gingerly in his palm.

"Where did you get this?" he asked quietly.

"Recognize it?" Kenny smirked, and he closed his eyes. "Well, it wasn't exactly hard to procure. The morgue doesn't exactly have guards."

"You're scum, Kenny."

"Ha!" Kenny shrugged. "Open it up."

His father did so. Immediately he snapped it shut.

"What the hell is wrong with you," he spat, throwing the locket onto Kenny's chest. "Who was it? Who did you kill?"

"No one that'll be missed," Kenny said darkly. "I'll promise you that."

"Get out." Grisha pointed to the door, his eyes full of disgust. "I don't want you near my house or my family."

"Whatever." Kenny hummed, bouncing to his feet. He pocketed the locket. "They come back, you know. The sacrifices."

"That doesn't justify it," Grisha whispered. "Please. Leave."

"Okay, okay." Kenny moved toward Christa, who flinched back from him. Grisha reached out and snatched Kenny's arm.

"Leave her," he said sharply. "And don't go near her again."

"What are you gonna do if I don't?" Kenny asked. His voice was taunting. "I only came here in case they find the body. You get to muck up the autopsy for me."

"You don't think I can ruin you?" Eren watched his father move closer, squeezing Kenny's arm. "You don't think I know how this all works? Seven years until the next sacrifice, Kenny. Seven years is a long time."

"Are you really threatening me?" Kenny barked a laughed. "That's almost cute!"

"Leave her alone," Grisha said coldly.

"Fine," Kenny laughed. "I'll humor you. Keep the brat. She cried all the way here anyway. I can't really deal with anymore of that."

Kenny yanked his arm away and left the house. He slammed the door shut, and Eren jumped.

His father stood for a moment, and then he held up the locket to the light. The gold chain twinkled brightly. Eren was confused for a moment, because he knew that Kenny had taken it back. Then he realized.  _He pick pocketed it_ , he thought numbly. Who was this man? Certainly not the father Eren knew!

Grisha turned to Christa. "Our little secret," he whispered to her. "Okay?"

Eren watched her nod slowly, her eyes glimmering with tears.

Quickly, Eren pushed himself off the stairs and fled back into the safety of his room. He clicked off the light, throwing himself into his bed and curling up, burying his face into his pillow and praying this was all a bad dream.  _Armin_ , he thought.  _Armin will know what to do_. But then Eren thought about it, and he realized that Armin would not know what to do. It would be out of Armin's hands. Tell an adult. Tell the police. Tell someone.

No. Eren could not tell Armin about this.

 _Then I'm alone_ , he thought fearfully.  _If I can't tell Armin, then I'm just alone_.

He heard movement in the hall. The bathroom door opening and closing. And then more movement. His father opened his door, peering in on him for a few moments. Eren let his breathing be loud and ragged. He didn't know if he snored or not, so this was the best he could do.

His father seemed to buy it. The door closed.

Eren flung his blanket off him. He shot a fierce glare at the door. His father didn't want to be part of this, Eren could tell. So how could Eren fix this?

He'd have to figure out who Kenny had killed first. And then from there… from there, Eren would just have to fill in the blanks.

Christa would help.

But she was so fucked up… and could Eren even trust her? Maybe she was in on it.

No. No, that was stupid, of course she wasn't. She hadn't looked very happy or willing. No, she was a victim here.

 _Okay_ , he thought, throwing his legs over the side of his bed and marching up to his dresser.  _Okay, I'll protect her. I'll keep her away from that Kenny bastard. I'll keep Armin out of this. I'll keep my dad out of this. I'll fix everything_.

He felt bad for the person who'd already died. He couldn't protect them. That made him fucking  _pissed_.

He tore a pair of pajamas out of his drawer, a small pair that he'd outgrown in the past year, and he dug through his underwear drawer for some briefs. He didn't own a lot. Would Christa wear boxers? No, Eren didn't even think his boxers would fit her waist. Why did girls have to be so tiny?

There was a pair that he found at the bottom of his drawer that were Armin's. He'd left them there a few years before when they'd had a water fight and he'd ended up just leaving all his wet clothes and going home in Eren's. Eren had just forgotten to return them.

He left his room, striding through the hall and stopping at the bathroom door. He could hear water running. He could hear someone sobbing. He gently rested the clothes outside the door. Then he walked back to his room, straightening out his bed hastily. He ran his fingers through his hair, staring blankly at it.

How the hell was he going to protect anyone if he didn't even know what was happening?

He scrubbed his face furiously.

He pulled an extra blanket and pillow from his closet and moved toward the door. In the dim light of the hallway, something glinted on his dresser. He turned to look at it curiously. He looked around, and he quickly snatched it, running from his room and rushing down the stairs two at a time. His heart was beating very hard. He turned on a lamp, tossing his blanket and pillow on a couch. It didn't look like there was anyone down here. It was probably safe.

He held the locket under the light. It was a large oval, and beneath the smeared stain of blood there was an oblong eye. When Eren thumbed at the blood, he shuddered, choking softly. It was still wet.

He sat down on the couch, and he examined the crease of the locket. It was tinged red. Beads of blood leaked from the slim crack. The hinge. He held it up to the light. He bit his lip, and then, taking a deep breath, he forced himself to tear it open.

He nearly shrieked in shock at what he found inside.

 _So much blood_ , he thought, blindly snapping the locket shut.  _So much blood_ ….

He felt dizzy. Sick. He didn't know what to do. He was shaking, his entire body racking. What was he going to do?

The room had grown very cold.

He cracked an eye open.

There was a man standing across from him. Flickering in the dim lamplight. Like a faulty television screen. He was stark, his mouth hanging open, and he shook as Eren shook. Blood leaked from crevices in his chest, mirroring the blood leaking from the locket.

 _They come back, you know_ , Kenny had said.  _The sacrifices_.

Eren leaned back against the couch. He watched the man as he stood, his head turning slowly. Rounding about, absorbing his surroundings as blood trickled from his pallid, shuddering lips. His image was faulty. He was not really there.

"Who are you?" Eren asked curiously.

The man glanced at him. His brow furrowed. His visage jumped, violently warping, and he was bleeding faster, his words coming from the blood pouring from his mouth. Eren tried not to look too horrified, but it was hard, because he was disgusted and scared to death.

"What… happened…?" He twitched and bled and spoke through a screen. His words were distant and muffled.

"You died," Eren answered cautiously.

The man's eyes widened.

He buckled, his image bursting apart in a grand tear of color, of red and white and black smearing all around and falling away. All that was left in his wake was a scream that moaned through the fabric of one plane of existence into another and shook the foundation of the house, agony and horror and fear and anguish pooling into one vicious, long drawn cry.

Eren clenched the locket. The scream was resonating in his head.

"Sorry…" he mumbled, stuffing the locket beneath his pillow. "I'll make sure no one has to suffer like you did. Okay?"

No one answered.

Something dripped against his cheek. He touched it, blinking rapidly as he peered at his fingers and saw that it had only been water. He glanced upward.

Christa's large blue eyes were staring down at him. She was half hanging over the railing, and the couch he was sitting on sat against the stairwell. She looked half a ghost herself, her face shadowy, her pale hair darkened by water, scraggly and hanging limply around her face. She was wearing his clothes.

They stared at each other.

He pressed his finger to his lips. Slowly, she mirrored his movements.

 _Our little secret_.

* * *

He had to take a seat. The air felt suddenly stifling, and he had a terrible headache. He sunk into Mikasa's mattress, chewing anxiously on his upper lip. The air was thick and chilly, and she watched him, her muscles rigid. He knew that she hated this as much as he did.

"I killed Eren… to protect you…" he whispered. It was hard to recall this. Was it really true?

"Yes." Mikasa ran her fingers through her hair, and she glanced up at the ceiling. "It was all a huge mistake. This never should have involved you."

"I don't understand," Armin moaned, covering his face with his hands. "Eren would never. Not in a million years!"

A familiar presence swept through the room, and Armin shuddered as Eren's voice floated mellifluously from behind him.

"I was possessed, Armin."

He flopped onto his back, spreading out arms and staring vacantly at the ceiling. He wondered how many times Levi had done this when he'd been alive. Eren's face leaned into his field of vision, hovering over him cautiously. He looked very sad. His face was pallid and his head was all caved in, and Armin wanted to puke.

"Why?" Armin shook his head, tears burning his eyes. "Why did you lie to me?"

"It was just… easier," Eren sighed, his glassy eyes closing. "I liked that you didn't remember it."

"I didn't," Mikasa said flatly. Armin bolted up straight, his head brushing right through Eren's. He stared at her, his eyes widening in shock.

"Oh," he gasped, holding his head. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry, Mikasa. You had to deal with… with all of this… all by yourself. Because I'm useless, because I… I wanted to forget…" He groaned, his face falling into his hands again. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, both of you, I didn't… I didn't mean to… I just…"

"Shut the fuck up," Eren snapped. Armin jerked, buckling in shock, and the words felt so much like a slap. Tears splashed against his cheeks, hot and ceaseless. He lowered his hands shakily. Eren was standing before him, his expression twisted and his bloody face leaning very close. Mikasa stood behind him, hugging her arms and looking away.

"Eren…" Armin whispered, his voice thick.

"No." Eren bared his teeth, and he looked so angry, so genuinely furious, and it was terrifying. "Stop apologizing. I told you already, I don't blame you for what happened. So stop blaming yourself!"

"I  _can't_!" Armin leaned forward desperately, raising his hands as though to grab Eren's shoulders, but he realized he couldn't so he stopped. "I don't get it! I don't get how you could let it slide so easily! I killed you. Be angry at me!"

"Well, I'm fucking angry," Eren hissed. "But not about the whole murder thing."

"That's absolute fucking bullshit, Eren, and you know it!" Armin dropped his hands into his lap, and he searched Eren's face. His lips trembled pitifully. "I just… I need to know… Eren… please tell me you didn't use me to kill yourself… please…"

Eren leaned back. He opened his mouth. And he promptly snapped it shut.

A stone seemed to drop into Armin's stomach. It sunk so low so fast, and it made him buckle in shock. He clapped his hands over his mouth to keep from vomiting.

"Oh god," he breathed, squeezing his eyes shut. The tears wouldn't stop.

He'd never felt so awful. He'd never felt so used.

How could he even be angry?

Armin would probably do the same if he could.

"You talk to him," Eren told Mikasa, waving at Armin emphatically.

"What do you want me to say?" Mikasa asked him, her eyes narrowing. "It's not like it isn't true."

"Yeah, but like… I didn't mean it like that, you know?" Eren groaned, hunching up and glaring at the floor. "I didn't really want to die. But if it was between me dying, and me killing you…"

"Yeah," Mikasa sighed. "I get it, Eren. But Armin doesn't. So why don't you tell him?"

Eren groaned again. He glanced at Armin, and Armin stared back, tears falling ceaselessly, his entire body shaking, and he wished, he wished, he wished he could take it all back.  _I just want everything to be like it used to be_ , he thought, staring between Eren and Mikasa, and feeling as though something had broken between them, that there was a space, a chasm, and he had no idea how to fix it.

"Armin, I knew what was going to happen," Eren said, his voice softer. Uncertain. He didn't look Armin in the eye. Perhaps he was ashamed. "I didn't know how to stop it. I didn't know if it was even possible to stop it. I… I don't know. I don't know how possession works."

"So you decided you'd drag me along because…?" Armin shook his head, wiping at his eyes furiously. "You used me."

"No, I…" Eren sighed, dropping his head back and groaning very loudly. "Fuck! I didn't mean it like that! I probably would have jumped if I could have. I brought you along because I thought, if anything, you might be able to drag me out. I think you did. A little bit. Do you remember?"

Armin stared at him. And then, a flush crept up his neck, and he bowed his head as his face burned. Yes. He definitely remembered that now. His skin prickled a bit at the ghost of his lips, and he closed his eyes.

"But you knew there was a chance I'd kill you," Armin murmured.

"I knew I was probably going to die," Eren admitted. "If I didn't kill Mikasa, then I was probably already dead. Look, I didn't want you to kill me, but I'm glad you did. Armin, that feeling you have right now, thinking that I used you to kill me? That's exactly the feeling I had, except I knew that I could stop it, so I threw a wrench in the plan." He crouched before him so they were eyelevel, and he smiled. "I brought you along. I hoped that you… with all your logic, and all those good instincts, that you'd be able to fix it somehow."

"I couldn't," he whispered.

"You could," Eren said firmly. "You  _did_. What happened, how it happened, that was my fault. I was… I was stupid. I made a mistake. I thought I could be the one who could protect everyone, to save everyone from this, but I was wrong. And your lives have been hell because of it."

"Eren, why the hell are you blaming yourself?" Armin rolled his eyes, and he sniffled. "You fucking died. I'm so… I'm not even going to pretend like you taking responsibility for me pushing you off a cliff is okay. It's not okay. I don't think it's okay."

"Well, cool," Eren said, shifting his eyes from Armin's fance and then back. "But, like, I don't actually care? No offense. You're not the dead one. So I kinda get to decide who's responsible. Because I died. So. Yeah. It was me. I killed myself. I'm sorry. Can we change the subject?"

"Eren!" Armin hissed.

"You're being a dick, Eren," Mikasa scolded.

"Yeah, you're being a dick," Armin said heatedly. "I don't buy this whole, "oh, you killing me was actually me killing me" bullshit. I was the one who pushed you, so I murdered you, and you need to stop trying to protect me from that, because you trying to "protect" me—" He used air quotations. "— is how we got into this mess in the first place!"

Eren flinched at that. Armin felt guilty, but at the same time it was the truth. If they had just told him from the beginning… if they had just stopped ignoring how he'd made himself forget everything…

"Why can't you just accept that it wasn't your fault?" Eren asked him softly. "I don't want you to hate yourself over this."

Armin took a deep breath. He sat, his hands sitting limply in his lap, and he smiled up at Eren weakly. "I've hated myself over it for years," he admitted. "I just didn't know the reason until now, I guess. I forgot, but… it never really went away. So it's a little too late to change how I feel about this. I'll hate myself either way."

Eren slumped. "I wish I could kick your ass," he muttered. "I really wish I could just smack you, you're being so stubborn about this."

"Mikasa," Armin said, looking up at her. "Tell me the truth. Do you blame me for Eren's death?"

"No," she said.

"Do you blame yourself?"

She jumped a little. Her eyes were wide, and her lips parted, but no sound came out. Yes. That was it.

"We all blame ourselves for what happened," Armin said, rising to his feet. Eren flickered, and he appeared upright at Armin's side. "Maybe it's all our faults. Maybe it's none of our faults. The point is, it happened. Someone is going to have to take the blame eventually."

"That'll be me," Mikasa admitted.

"No," Eren and Armin blurted in unison.

"Yes," she sighed.

"I killed him," Armin gasped. "I should be the one who—!"

"Did you bury the body?" Mikasa asked coolly. "Is it your blood all over the crime scene? No one will even believe you were there, Armin. There's no proof. If you try to claim that you were the murderer, I'll make a claim that you weren't even there, that you're trying to cover for me." She straightened up, and she glanced between the two of them. "I love both of you. I don't want to go to jail, but I will if it comes down to it. Hell, I'd be safer in jail than I'd be here. Especially if it was outside Shiganshina."

"Okay, fuck that," Eren spat, throwing his hands up. "How about no one ever finds my body as a solution? Yep. There. Perfect. Anyway, I really just want my death to be ruled a suicide."

"I buried you, Eren," Mikasa reminded.

"I know you fucking buried me, thank you," Eren told her sharply, his teeth baring in slight indignation. "Like I need reminding. Didn't you also burn my body?"

"Maybe."

"At least she's efficient?" Armin offered.

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, real talk though." Eren turned to face Armin, and he squinted at his face. Armin's stomach twisted into knots as Eren studied him. "What the fuck happened to your hair?"

Armin blinked rapidly. He ruffled his shorn hair, feathery strands tickling his cheeks. "Really? That's what you notice?" Armin tilted his head. "Not the big fat bruise under my eye?"

Eren gave an offhanded wave. Armin turned to Mikasa, and she shrugged.

"Well, I think Levi did it," Armin admitted. "But I'm not sure. I was sleeping when it happened."

"Levi's an asshole," Mikasa muttered, scowling at the floor.

"Tell me about it," Eren groaned. "I guess it's not really his fault, though. Did you figure out the deal with him yet, Armin?"

"You mean how Kenny's controlling him?" Armin blinked. "Well, yeah. It became pretty clear. Especially after he possessed me."

"He what?" Eren whirled to face Armin, his expression going stony. Mikasa wandered up to Armin's side, and she grabbed his arm, yanking up his sleeve. The welt on his arm became suddenly visible, and Eren glanced down at the brand and swore. "Ah fuck, ah fuck, we fucked up."

"Um…?" Armin yanked his arm back. "Okay? What does this thing even mean? Am I like marked for death, or what?"

"No," Mikasa said. "That's me. You're just marked to be a pawn of sorts. An instrument to kill me. Like Eren."

"Okay," he said, "I guess that… kind of makes sense. But then why was this always on Levi's arm when he was alive?"

"How'd you know about that?" Eren asked curiously.

"He… showed me?"

"Weird," Mikasa said, staring at Armin with large eyes. "I guess he's getting desperate if he trusted you so fast."

"Can't you like, talk to him or something, Mikasa?" Eren whined. "He's getting a little out of hand, don't you think?"

"You talk to him," Mikasa said. "You have more chances to."

"Yeah, but like… it's really awkward…" Eren winced. He glanced at Armin, and he smiled sheepishly. "We haven't really been on the best terms since he possessed me and inadvertently caused my death."

"He told me you weren't friends," Armin said. "I was really surprised."

"Why?" Eren scoffed. He folded his arms across his chest, and tilted his head. "Do we seem like we're on friendly terms? He's literally the actual reason I'm dead."

"He blames himself for that," Mikasa said softly.

"Oh, we all fucking blame ourselves," Eren snapped. "I just blame him a little more. Slightly more."

"Is it really Levi's fault, though?" Armin didn't know why he was defending Levi. He touched his neck, shallow cuts stinging the surface of his skin, and he sighed. "He had just as little control as you did, right?"

"Stop making sense, Armin, you're making it hard to justify my grudge."

"Sorry," Armin said weakly, shrinking a little. Eren glanced at him.

"That was a joke," he said gently. He paused, considering it for a moment. "Well, mostly. I mean, I guess Levi's okay. I don't really know him that well."

"Didn't he possess you for years though?" Armin blurted. Mikasa's eyebrows shot up.

"Years?" Her eyes swiveled to Eren's face. He blinked rapidly, and shot Armin a withering look. "Years, Eren?"

"Only, like, seven."

"Eren!"

"It wasn't really that important at the time?" Eren offered. "Look, I was pretty dead set on not getting anyone involved. As stupid as it was— and yeah, I'm aware. It was dumb. But I couldn't tell anyone. So I just… I don't know. I dealt."

"You obviously did not deal  _well_ ," Armin said. Mikasa gave a stiff nod, and she seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. How much did she know about all this, anyway? "Mikasa, how long have you known? About Eren's ghost, I mean?"

"Huh?" She looked a little taken aback. "Oh, I don't… really know. Years." She watched his face, and he must have looked dissatisfied, because she quickly continued. "It wasn't like he visited frequently or anything."

"Yeah, I slept for the better part of the past seven years," Eren chirped. Armin glared at him. He smiled cheekily. "I'm dead serious."

"Get the fuck out," Armin said flatly, pointing to the door.

"That was in bad taste, Eren," Mikasa sighed.

"Really?" Eren's eyebrows rose behind his bangs. "I thought that was hilarious."

"Bad taste."

"Huh." Eren whistled lowly, and he turned to Armin, a mischievous smirk appearing on his face. "Hey, Armin, what's the difference between me and Satan?"

"What?" Armin asked, leaning away from his friend. He didn't know what to say. Eren grinned toothily.

"When Satan fell, he  _stayed_  in hell." Eren barked a laugh. He sounded very pleased with himself.

"Oh my god," Armin murmured, holding his forehead gently in his hands. He couldn't believe this. Mikasa stood with her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. She was unimpressed.

"Not quite," Eren said brightly.

"You're having too much fun with this," Mikasa observed.

"Maybe," Eren sighed, his smile dropping. He bowed his head. And then, innocently, he raised his eyes. "Do you think I'm beating a dead horse?"

"Make him stop," Armin gasped, as Eren guffawed.

"I think it's too late for that," Mikasa said gravely. They both watched Eren laugh absurdly at his own horrible puns. It felt disgustingly nostalgic.

"Oh my god," Eren laughed, flickering a little bit, alarmingly unstable as his laughter echoed in his wake, dribbling in the air and lasting forever it seemed, even with his unstable, overwhelmingly bright appearance. "Take a joke, guys!"

"It's a little difficult to laugh at the fact that you're dead," Armin muttered.

"What's the use of being a ghost if I can't make fun of it?" Eren stuck his hand into Armin's chest and wriggled his fingers a bit. Armin shrieked in surprised, clapping his hands over his mouth to stifle a giggle. It tickled his lungs, like some bubbling crack of hysterical laughter rising up inside him. He sidestepped Eren's touch with ease, taking deep breaths to calm himself.

"I felt that," he gasped in disbelief. Eren looked at him. And then his eyes widened.

"Oh, shit, really?" He looked down at his hand. He flexed his fingers.

"Well…" Armin struggled to come up with the right words. There was water rushing in his ears, the residual haunting of Eren's ghostly touch flooding through him. It had still tickled, still made him giddy, and he could not explain it. "Not entirely, but… it definitely tickled."

"Maybe I'm getting more powerful!" Eren whirled toward Mikasa, looking very eager. "Do you think I could be as strong as Levi? If I was a ghost for as long?"

"I don't know," she said softly. "Do you want to be like Levi?"

"Levi can touch people," Eren gasped, leaning forward and vibrating, his image flickering vividly in his excitement. Blood trickled down his cheek, and he grew pallid and faint, but he looked so happy, so full of hope, even in spite of his deathly appearance. "Levi can  _feel_  things! I'd do anything for that."

"Don't say that, Eren," Mikasa whispered.

"So…" Armin's eyes narrowed between them. "You two haven't been conversing secretly in the past seven years. That's what I'm supposed to believe?"

"Well…" Mikasa shrugged a little. "Honestly, yeah? Eren only showed up once or twice, and he hardly ever… appeared like this…" She glanced at him. He smiled at her warmly. "Unless he was trying to possess me."

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I was tired. Barely conscious, to be honest. I only really woke up when Armin came back."

" _Me_?" Armin jerked back. He couldn't imagine what he had to do with Eren's sudden appearance. "Why? Because… of that sacrifice thing? Because it's been seven years?"

"Nah." Eren shook his head. "It's got nothing to do with that."

Armin had to think. He studied Eren, the way his face turned, the gleam of the blood on his cheek— perfectly crimson, exaggerated slightly by the pallor of his skin, the thin, waxy texture of his flesh. His hair was damp, and it curled across his forehead, and every centimeter of his sickly face seemed to be on the edge of tearing, like the papery fragility of a tissue brushing up against a rock. Every so often that tissue would rip, and his entire being jumped out of existence, leaving behind a static-filled rush in the place of his body, like white noise dripping across the air.

Oh.

Eren's ghostliness had never seemed more real than now. Armin could not do anything for him. He was dead. Stuck between existential planes. He broke apart. He was threatened only by the threat of nonexistence. Of fading away. He was stuck forever in this bloody, pallid state, water droplets clinging to his pores, dirt licking sections of his exposed skin, and even his lips seemed to shine faintly, gleaming from the overflow of water stuck in Eren's mouth, something that he perhaps ignored, something that should prohibit him from speaking at all, but didn't.

He was fifteen. Forever.

At least until he moved on, or whatever.

"I see," Armin said. He took a deep breath, and he nodded. "You're haunting me."

"What?" Mikasa blurted, her eyes widening in shock.

Eren stared. He could not deny it, but the look on his face suggested that he hadn't known that, even though he clearly had. It was like revelation. Armin saw it in his eyes. He'd understood it vaguely, but it had never truly clicked. His mouth fell open. Water poured out.

"Because I killed him," Armin explained. It was a relief to speak this aloud. Like… like a series of weights were pulling away from his chest. He could breathe. For the first time in years, he felt… light. "He specifically is haunting me, because I was the one that pushed him. I can see him. You can see him. I'd bet anything Historia can see him."

"She can," Eren said through the waterfall that poured from his open mouth. His voice didn't quite leave his lips so much as it emanated from the steady flow that gushed from his bruised, cracked lips.

"Is he okay?" Mikasa asked Armin softly.

"I…" Armin shook his head. "I don't know. This never happened before."

Eren closed his mouth. He held one thumb up as water trickled out both corners of his mouth, quick rivulets meeting at his chin and dribbling down his neck.

"I guess we all have a lot to learn," Mikasa said. She closed her eyes. Armin thought she must be angry, but then he saw the small, contented smile playing on her lips. She was happy. She was genuinely happy.

They were together.

For the first time since Eren had died, they were all together.

And they were happy.

_Are we, though?  
_

Armin looked to Eren. He was covering his mouth with his hand. There was a wet noise, and he coughed a little. Water splattered across the floor, and Mikasa and Armin both leapt back.

"I'm okay," he rasped, his body tearing from one end of the room to another. Armin did not believe him.

"Eren…" Mikasa stared at the puddle on the floor. "This stuff never happens to Levi."

"It's fine."

"How much energy do you use up just by talking to us?" Armin asked curiously. He knelt down beside the puddle on the floor. He touched it tentatively. When he looked down at his fingers, they were shining from moisture.

"Wow, I don't know, Armin," Eren said. His sarcasm was laid thick over his tone. "Let me just check my fucking  _batteries._ "

"Eren," Armin said gently, "you don't have to be here if it means you waste your… life force, or whatever. Sleep for longer if that helps."

"That's not the problem here," Eren snapped He shot a quick glance at Mikasa. "I'm just not a powerful ghost. When I get excited or angry, I kinda… uh…" He coughed a bit, and waved his arm in a large, vague gesture. "Like, glitch. Or something like that. It's really hard to keep appearances, and… I don't know. This stuff happens. It's like, normal, I guess. Like sneezing."

"Puking up a waterfall is normal for you?" Mikasa asked in her usual cool, flat tone.

"Next time I'll puke on you," Eren warned, jerking his index finger in her direction.

"So…" Armin straightened up, wiping his fingers off on his shirt. "What now?"

"Great question," Mikasa said. She offered up her hands, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I'm all up for not dying, personally. So I guess we should start there."

"Oh, right!" Eren's index finger swerved toward Armin. "Looks like you're the new me. As in, Kenny's gonna use you to try and kill Mikasa."

"I'm pretty sure he almost made Mikasa kill herself at one point…" Armin glanced at her. He recalled how entranced she'd been the night of the fire. How they'd both almost died.

"I've been talking to Levi's ghost longer than I've known both of you," she said coolly. "I'm sorry if I let my guard down a little."

"No, it's fine." Eren gave a little wave, as though he honestly did not care. "It's happened to all of us, right? At least it didn't actually kill you."

"Like it did you?" Armin offered. Eren didn't raise his eyes to him. He didn't even respond.

The silence stretched out between them. All three of them. Together. And… Armin could feel it. The rift come again. There was no healing this relationship. It was truly damaged beyond repair. Because Eren was dead. Because Armin had killed him. Because Mikasa had burned and buried him.

"I don't know what you guys know," Mikasa said softly. "But you realize that it has to be me, right? Eren doesn't count as a sacrifice."

"Wait," Armin said, blinking confusedly, "really?" In the back of his mind, he was reeling a bit.  _A sacrifice_. But it made sense. It was all beginning to slowly make sense.

"Yeah…" Eren frowned, and he slumped a little. "Yeah, no, she's right. That's why my death was a good thing— ish!" He winced at the glowers they shot him. "Because, um… like, the ritual that was started with Levi's death… it can only be continued with  _Levi's_  blood." He turned his eyes to Mikasa. "It's a bloodline thing."

"So…" Armin scratched his head, his fingers knotting in the fluffy yellow strands. His hair was drying in soft tufts around his ears. "You're not a sacrifice?"

"Nope!" Eren's shoulders rose and fell, a meager sign that he didn't really care. "Just the wrench stuck in the machine."

"Your death… delayed the ritual…" Armin was still trying to wrap his head around it. "Okay. So by you dying instead of Mikasa, whatever was happening, whatever… magic, or whatever that was happening, it couldn't continue. Because you weren't… compatible?"

"Compatible, yeah!" Eren nodded vigorously. "That's a good word for it! I wasn't compatible, so the ritual came to a big fat grinding halt. And the only reason Kenny didn't try again is because you have to wait seven years after every time you spill some blood."

"Seven years," Armin murmured to himself. He nodded slowly. "Okay. I kind of get it. Like Tam Lin."

"What?" Eren asked flatly. Mikasa stared as well, her brow furrowing. Armin felt a flush flood into his cheeks.

"It's… a ballad." He shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, embarrassed by his own assortment of useless knowledge. "A fairy tale."

"Oh, awesome." Eren looked genuinely interested, and Mikasa drifted closer to Armin's side. Perhaps he'd gotten too quiet in his embarrassment. "What kind of fairy tale?"

"Well… you know the fair folk. Right?"

"No," they said in unison. They were staring at Armin intently. Expectantly. Now it was like old times. They would listen to him implicitly.

"Fairies," Armin explained. Eren's eyebrows shot way up. Mikasa's eyes lit up unexpectedly. Perhaps he'd misjudged them. "Well, in fairy lore, faeries are… not very nice. They kidnap humans a lot."

"I wasn't kidnapped and this isn't about fairies," Eren said.

"No, no," he gasped. "No, I get that. But in Tam Lin, a Faerie queen has to pay a tithe to hell every seven years. So, that's… what I was getting at."

"What the fuck is a tithe?" Eren asked.

"A church thing!" Mikasa blinked rapidly, and then she looked a little uncertain. "Right?"

"How should I know?" Eren scoffed. "Do you think anyone here has ever gone to church?"

"A tithe is like a tax. But, um, in this context I think we can call it a sacrifice." Armin scratched at his knuckles. Sunlight was pooling in through Mikasa's window, bright and beautiful. Armin couldn't believe it was still so early. He was exhausted and the day had hardly begun.

"Are you saying Kenny's trying to sacrifice my soul to hell?" Mikasa asked.

"Is that surprising?" Eren scoffed.

"Not really."

"It's not far off from the truth, either," Eren admitted.

Armin leaned forward expectantly. Eren simply stood. He said nothing more. Mikasa toyed with her hair when his eyes flashed to her face, once more expectant.

Did they think he already knew, or something?

He wasn't a fucking psychic!

"I'm going to shower," Mikasa said, striding across the room to her dresser. "You guys can keep theorizing. Maybe figure out what to tell Jean."

"Do we have to even include him?" Eren whined.

"Yes," Armin said. He glanced at the door, and he let a long sigh fall from his lips. "God. I've really kept him in the dark."

Mikasa wadded her clothes into a ball, tossing them onto her bed as she rifled through her drawer. "We both have," she admitted. "But nothing's really worse than how much I've been hiding from you." She paused. When she turned to face him, he saw her eyes were bloodshot from unshed tears. He felt guilty. "I can't… I can't possibly express how sorry I am, Armin. I never meant for you to hurt like this."

"It's okay, Mikasa," he whispered, stunned and suddenly shaken. His chest constricted. His throat tightened up. "It was… understandable. I guess. Given the circumstances, I mean…" He laughed weakly. "Would I have believed you? If you'd told me?"

"I don't know," she murmured.

He watched her, with all her tears and all her stares, and he realized she was not as strong as he'd perceived her to be. He could feel the years and years of building her up in his head, seeing her through a veil of film, through his childish gaze that misconstrued her distance for apathy and her determination for strength. She was just as human as he was.

And that meant she was just as weak and just as vulnerable.

How new and strange and exciting that was.

Armin could look at his best friends now, one tearful and one bloody, and he could see himself. He could recognize them and their flaws. And it felt gratifying. They had not been lowered in his eyes— merely shown for the beautiful, flawed people they were.

They all had lied themselves into this rotten mess. At least they could crawl out of it together.

Mikasa gathered her clothes and left the room. Armin didn't know if he felt a distance between them, or if they had finally reached an understanding.

"Does she know?" he asked Eren as he closed the door.

"What do you mean?"

Armin turned to look at him. Eren had always been someone Armin had admired and adored, from childhood until even now. But Armin sensed that they all were drinking from the same cup, and that madness had crawled into Eren's head and whispered soft deceits into his tender, aching head.

He moved closer to Eren, crossing the room slowly, pushing logic from his head and letting himself recollect. Eren had tried to kiss him the night he had died. And then he'd actually kissed him, just a few nights before. And what did any of that mean? It's not like it could go anywhere. Eren was dead.

"Eren, how do you feel about me?" He couldn't even look him in the face as he said it. He wandered to Mikasa's dresser, shifting the ballerina shards and lifting up the faded red bocce ball that Levi had thrown at him. The first time he'd seen the adult ghost of Levi. Things had made more sense back then.

"I don't really get the question," Eren said. His voice was loud. His words were sharp. He was irritated and bemused.

Armin tossed the bocce ball from hand to hand. It weighed down in his palm, dropping almost immediately upon entering open air. "I mean," Armin said, turning slowly, never looking up, "is there something between us?"

"Oh."

That was not an encouraging reply. Oh. "Oh" could mean anything. "Oh" could mean everything. "Oh" could mean nothing.

Armin raised his eyes, and he was startled to see Eren had appeared right before him, his blood caked face just millimeters away. He raised both his hands, and Armin could feel the chill of them before his fingers even slipped against his skin, cupping both his cheeks without really gripping them.

"Don't," Armin whispered, leaning back. Eren's eyes widened, and Armin felt a wave of déjà vu. He didn't have the excuse he had in the alley. Eren looked more awake now than he had in a long, long time. His green eyes were vibrant. Glowing.  _Hurt_. "I want an answer. I want to know."

"Okay," Eren said, blinking rapidly. He looked at loss of what to say. Armin stared at him expectantly. This went on, a staring match, his mouth wide open as though to speak, but no words were released. Armin could feel the ghost of a touch on both his cheeks, the feeling of a cobweb brushing flesh or passing into a shadowed alcove after spending hours baking in the sun. "I don't really know what to say."

"Say  _something_."

"I've already told you I love you," Eren murmured. His brow furrowed, and his image flickered slightly, a jump. Perhaps he was just as nervous as Armin. "I must've said it a thousand times. Why do you need to hear it again?"

"Because I have to know what the difference is," Armin whispered, "between this and that and… then and now. What's the difference?" Armin leaned into Eren's touch, and his hand fell right inside his cheek, a faint rush of water and a faint sigh of a scream. "What's I love you and I love you and I love you when you're dead?"

Eren withdrew his hands, and he moved back, drifting away in a shudder of emotion, raw anger pulsating through the air, flickering, fluttering, ripping apart and reassembling.

"I don't  _want_  to be dead," Eren snapped, his voice shaking inside the walls.

"I never said you did."

"You keep implying it!" Eren bared his teeth, and blood trickled against his pallid cheek, his visage raw and his eyes alight. "Someone told you. Right? Someone must have. That I tried to kill myself. How many times?" Eren shook his head furiously. "I don't know. I don't even know. I lost count. I tried so many things. I tried everything."

"Now you sound like Historia…" Armin murmured.

Eren barked a laugh, and it hit Armin hard, because it sounded… bitter and tearful.

"I didn't want to die," Eren declared. His voice was steadier than Armin had expected. "I wanted to live, I wanted… I wanted everyone to live. I don't know what happened. I was scared. I didn't want anyone else to have to get involved, to have to get hurt. Like Levi got hurt, like I was hurting. Armin, I never wanted you to be part of this."

"Well, you excluding me is what put me in this situation, Eren."

"Oh, shut up!" Eren's eyes flashed. Oh, he was pissed. He was so pissed. "It didn't involve you! It had nothing to do with you!"

"Okay, fine!" Armin's fists curled at his side. "But guess what, Eren, it involves me now, so you have to deal with that."

"I just wanted…" Eren shrunk a little his shoulders shaking, his image flickering, and his voice softly echoing across every surface of the room. Ripples of noise. "All I wanted was something untouched by all the bad things… and… I don't know." He shook his head. "I don't know, okay? I don't know what any of it means, and I don't know why I fucked up so bad. But guess what?" He stepped toward Armin again, his image settling down, and he let his hands hover above his cheeks, nearly brushing his skin. "I'm still here! And I'm not done. I'm not done protecting people from my fate— from Levi's fate. That includes you."

Armin took a deep breath. The chill of Eren's presence, the knowledge that he was so close, so close, so close and yet… not really there…

"You didn't answer my question," Armin whispered.

"I love you," Eren said, turning his hands outward, letting them drift beneath Armin's chin. "Why the fuck do you have to make a huge deal out of it?"

His words struck Armin. Hard.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. Tears burned behind his eyes, and he laughed, bowing his head. "I'm… I'm just… scared that maybe…"

"You asked if Mikasa knew," Eren said, glancing away. "And, yeah. She does. She's known since we were younger."

"You've known that long?" Armin choked, tears clouding his vision.

"I wish I could touch you right now," Eren whispered. He paused, and he tilted his head. "So I could punch you in the fucking face."

"Thanks, Eren."

"Yeah, your welcome." Eren rolled his eyes and dropped his hands at his side. "I'd like, kiss you or something, but for real I'm running out of energy. Maybe some other time, though."

"Okay."

Eren looked down at his feet. Armin laughed a little.

"What the fuck are you laughing at?"

"I don't know. I think part of me was hoping you'd just say you hated me." Armin shrugged. "I wish you'd hate me."

"I really, really want to punch you, if that helps."

"It does. A little bit." Armin leaned back, taking a deep breath and setting the bocce ball down. "I still murdered you."

"That was an accident, not a murder," Eren snapped. "Can you stop dwelling on it?"

"Are you kidding?"

"Maybe I  _will_  kiss you," Eren taunted, folding his arms across his chest. "And then I'll fade away, and you'll cry, probably, because I used the last my energy just to—"

The door burst open. Armin jumped out of his skin, whirling around to face the doorway and wincing as he came face to face with Jean.  _Oh great_ , he thought.  _How the fuck am I going to explain this?_

"Um," he said weakly, shooting a glance aside. "Okay, so…"

Jean was holding a phone in his fist. Armin saw that it was his own. The look on Jean's face was strange. Large eyed and somber. Bemused. He offered out the phone. And Armin took it, not knowing what else to do.

"Hello…?" he asked into the receiver.

" _Armin_?" Annie's voice floated into his ear. He was shocked and a little too pleased to hear her. It felt like they hadn't seen each other in months, when in reality it'd only been a few days. " _Get over to the Jaeger's place_."

"What? Why?" Armin turned from Jean so he was facing Eren. He was standing there innocently, his eyes wide and curious.

"Who is it?" he asked. He all but floated closer to Armin's side, cool air blowing in his wake.

Annie took a deep breath on the other line. " _Grisha Jaeger's dead_ ," she said. " _Just get here as fast as you can before we have to bag him. Okay_?"


	17. Chapter 17

**fools frightened**

"Maybe we should try a séance."

There was a soft sound from the other line, a vague little scoff that gave Eren an idea of what she thought of that suggestion. She was shuffling, and from the distant clap of bare feet upon wood, he suspected she was pacing. He stared down at his desk, wriggling the cap of a sharpie between his teeth. Gathering names was not as easy as it looked. He could link Kenny Ackerman and Rod Reiss easily, but the rest? Eren was not Armin. He was not patient enough for this research bullshit. He wanted to take action, and he wanted to do it now.

" _Maybe not_ ," Christa said. Her voice was gentle, but he knew she was judging him. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered with her. It wasn't like he enjoyed talking to her. She was almost always no help at all, and she liked to avoid giving him any helpful information. And plus, she was irritatingly fake. That gave her a weird faux cheerfulness that reminded him of the Stepford Wives. Like, she genuinely creeped him out.

"Well I don't hear you offering up any ideas," he said stiffly, throwing down his sharpie and leaning back in his chair. The locket was open on his desk. He threw a glance at it, and then swiveled in his chair. "You know I'm running out of steam, right? I don't know how to hold this stuff off anymore. Can't you help me?"

" _Honestly_?" she sighed. " _No, Eren. I can't help you. I don't even know where to begin with helping you_."

"Why don't we start with this giant conspiracy and work from there?" he offered flatly, spinning in his chair. "Come on! I'm working my ass off trying to put this shit to rest, but you won't even give me a hand with keeping my sanity?"

" _I'm sorry_ ," she said. She sounded really earnest. " _But I can hardly keep my own sanity in check. If the ghost is really bothering you that much, then maybe that's something you should take up with him, not me_."

"But I've tried talking to him normally!" Eren slumped in his seat. "It doesn't work."

" _I still don't get why you're even being haunted_ ," she muttered. He spun himself around and around, ignoring how a black silhouette in the corner got closer and closer with every turn. " _You weren't there and you don't live in his old house. Why does he keep bothering you_?"

"Great question." Eren heard rattling in his ears. Shackles. Chains jostling. He spun, and the hair-raising cacophony of nails sliding down the inside of a wall repeatedly filled the room, creaking along the floorboards and pooling up around him. He almost found it difficult to breathe. He leapt off the chair and left it spinning, emptily whirling round and round, coming to a sad, slow stop as he walked up to his desk and picked up the locket. He handled it gingerly, minding the bone shard and glancing at the blood-stained photograph. He'd managed to salvage at least a good glimpse of the woman's face. There was another person in the photo, but they were now nothing but a brownish blot where the blood had coagulated and sunk right into the golden frame.

He snapped it shut.

The scratching didn't stop, but it lessened in intensity. Eren glanced at the corner, but the silhouette was no longer there. His stomach squirmed in discomfort. He didn't want to look around. Up. Or down.

Or behind him.

" _I just wouldn't trust a séance_ ," she said. " _I mean, we're not exactly the most religious people to start with. I don't want to even ask Ymir her opinion, she might make me go to masjid_."

"Is that a bad thing?"

" _There's a reason I stopped going to church, Eren_ ," Christa told him curtly. " _I love Ymir, but no_."

"You're kinda awful," he said, leaping onto his bed and standing on his tip toes to reach the small rectangular vent above it. He could still hear the scratching. It was growing louder, and then fainter, making it difficult to pin-point exactly where it was coming from.

She was quiet. " _Do you want me to hang up_?" she asked softly.

"No."

" _Then let me be uncomfortable about religion_."

"Hey, I don't really have the right to judge," he offered her, feeling guilty as he wriggled the loose nails from the wall. "It's not like I'm all that pious."

" _I wasn't being serious anyway_ ," Christa sniffed. " _Ymir wouldn't actually. She'd probably just make fun of me. Silly Christa playing with spirits. Just asking for a horror story_."

"The more I know about you, the more confusing you get." Eren lifted the grate and pulled out a box about the length of his forearm from within it. He'd bought this at a garage sale, a plain wooden box that had probably once held jewelry. Now it just held scraps of notes, small bits of information he'd gathered over the years, and a small, bent moleskin journal that he used when things got particularly nasty inside his head. He didn't know what he was going to do with the box.

Sometimes he thought about just leaving it on Armin's doorstep and waiting to see how fast everything came together.

But no, he wasn't so cruel. He'd never burden Armin with this bullshit.

" _You're not exactly an open book either_ ," she replied coolly. " _For one, you talk a lot of shit for someone who's on the brink of an all out meltdown_."

"Hm." He set the box down on his bed, letting himself sink into the scratching sound, the lull of it fading into his thoughts and melding into them. It was like a melody. It was just like a melody. And his thoughts were the vicious, rapid lyrical notes, the dissonance above the calm. He dropped the locket into the box. "I think it already happened."

" _What do you mean_?"

"Well," he said, leaning over the open box and staring into it. There was someone kneeling beside him. A face hovering a few precious centimeters from his. Watching. "You know how I missed school for a few days last week?"

" _Armin said you were sick. Stomach flu, or something_."

"Yeah, no. I tried to hang myself." He clamped the box closed and shot a furious glare into Levi's hollow face. He flickered momentarily, blinking from one end of the room to the other. He seemed to shrink into the corner.  _Maybe out of guilt. Serves him right, the motherfucker_.

" _What_?" Historia actually sounded genuinely surprised. How relieving. She could still feel surprise. " _Oh my god, Eren, are you_ —?"

"I really don't want your fake concern, okay? I'm fine." He set the box back in the vent and began to close it up again. The screws didn't go in right. He watched his fingers shake against the grate, and he steadied the phone against his cheek. "I just don't feel so hot about, you know. Everything. But it's okay, I'll be fine."

" _Do Mikasa and Armin know_?" She actually sounded really worried, and that… that scared him.

That scared him more than Levi ever could.

"No."

" _Why the hell did you tell me and not them_?" She sounded angry. Furious even.

"Why are you so mad?"

" _Why are you so calm_?" she asked fiercely.

"I'm just… I don't know." He sat back against his bed, staring at his trembling fingers and lying back against his pillow. There was no relief in lying down. "I'm tired, I guess. You haven't experienced anything like this, right?"

She didn't answer.

He turned onto his side and stared at his wall. He wanted to cry. He tried to force it, but there were no tears, and that made him even sadder. So sad, in fact, that alongside his trembling fingers, his whole body began to shake.

"We're fucked up," he whispered.

" _Talk to your real friends, Eren_."

_Are you not my real friend, Historia?_

Why did he even bother talking to her?

He tried not to feel to hurt by her words. After all, she probably felt just as awful as he did.

"Every time I think of telling them," he said, staring at the wall, "I remember how awful this feels. I don't want them to feel like this. Ever."

" _You're an idiot._ "

"Well when I actually ask people for help," he snapped, "they don't exactly come through for me, do they?"

" _What do you want me to say_?" She held a flat, even tone, her distance from the situation clear from the edge in her voice. " _I'm just as in the dark as you are, Eren! I don't know what any of it means, okay, so please… please stop expecting me to fill you in on all the answers!_ "

There was a knock at the door, and Eren bolted upright. It opened without his consent, and he glowered as his father walked in.

"Can I come in?" his father asked softly, already halfway in the room.

"Why ask when you just waltz right in anyway?" Eren sneered.

" _What_?" Christa asked confusedly.

"No, no," he sighed. "Not you…" He shot a glance at his father, and he bit his lip. "Um, I'll talk to you later, Armin."

She was quiet for a few seconds, and he felt guilty for it.

" _Tell your dad to go fuck himself_ ," she spat. The line promptly went dead. He let his hand fall slowly to his side. He pressed the end button, and tossed the cordless phone aside.

"What do you want?" Eren asked cautiously as his father moved toward his bed.

"Can a father not come and talk to his son?" His father peered at him from over his glasses, which made Eren squirm, because it was like being a specimen under a microscope. He wanted to twitch and spasm under his father's attentive gaze.

"Not when that father is you," he said coldly.

"Why are you acting as though I've committed some heinous crime?" Grisha looked a little alarmed, and Eren bit his tongue to keep from screaming some profanities. No, no, he had to be cool. He had to cool it.

"I'm tired," Eren said. "Can you shut the door on your way out?"

"I wanted to ask you something," his father said, blinking. "But if you really want me to leave…" He got up and turned away. Eren eyed him. He bit his lip.

 _Shit_ , he thought.

"Wait," he blurted, scooting closer to the edge of his bed. He hung on his bed frame as his father glanced back at him. "What'd you want to ask me?"

Eren did not miss the satisfied smirk that pulled on his father's lips.

Bastard.

"Do you remember when you were very small," his father said, sitting down on the bed beside him, "and I used to take you to a country house. By a lake. Do you remember?"

"Uh…" It was difficult to remember anything these days. He gave a little nod and a smile anyway. Just to make his father feel a little better. "Yeah, kinda."

What did it really matter if he lied?

"Well," his father said, clasping his hands together. Eren eyed him uncertainly, because his tone was very light, and he was very close, and it was so odd for his father to take such an interest with him beyond reprimanding him. "I was thinking maybe you'd might want to take a trip up there."

Eren sat with his arms still slung over his footboard, and he unwound them slowly so he could turn to face his father. He searched the man's face for any sign of deceit, staring into his eyes and ignoring how eerily they echoed his own. He didn't think he was much like his father in any way, but there was no denying where his eyes had come from. In that aspect, looking at him was like staring into a mirror. It made his skin crawl.

He used to really love his father.

What had happened?

"You want to… what, go camping?" Eren shifted uneasily, sitting so one foot dangled off his bed. He swung it lazily, thinking of Mikasa and how dangerous it was to leave her alone. What if Kenny tried something while he was away? Eren knew he wasn't much help as of late, but at the very least he could be close by in case Mikasa needed him.

"It wouldn't really be camping, just… a vacation. We could go fishing."

"Fishing," Eren repeated slowly.

"Yes…" His father squared his shoulders. He knew how to talk to people. It bewildered Eren how well-liked he was in the community. Could people not see that he was an awful liar more often than not? Could people not tell that he was a poisonous person who only brought grief and madness to the lives around him?

Eren stared at this man, his all to distant father, and he couldn't help but feel a little rush of anticipation as he thought about it. When was the last time his father had wanted to actually spend time with him? When was the last time his father had even spoken to him without remarking about his mental state, reminding him to take his meds, yadda, yadda, yadda. When was the last time Eren had felt like this?

Excitement?

Like, something beyond worry and fear for a change?

He was blushing. He was thirteen for fuck's sake, he was too old to be breaking his back over his father's approval!

But the thought was so enticing, and he felt weak at the hands of his father's easy smile. What could he do? Sometimes, even if he really, really wanted it, his rage just would not rear its mighty head.

He was trapped in his own naivety.

"Fishing," he repeated, the word nurtured and soft, pulled delicately from his lips as though a one-word prayer. He turned his eyes forward, averting his gaze and trying to digest what was happening to him. "We won't… actually, you know, kill the fish, will we?"

His father looked surprised. He shot Eren a soft smile, and his large hand clapped over the crown of his head, ruffling his hair and sending a jolt of warmth through him, a calming sensation that melted through his chest and made him bow his head to hide a grin.

"If you're not comfortable with that," his father said, "then of course not."

Eren found himself nodding in spite of himself. "Well," he said, leaning into his father's touch. "I mean… I guess that can't be so bad, right?"

His father laughed.

And he laughed too.

And… he felt happy.

And then, like a punch to the gut, he felt instantaneously sad.

He did not look his father in the eye, and he let his shoulders sag as Grisha's fingers ran gently through his hair.

 _Why did it take a suicide attempt for you to want to hang out, dad?_  He wished he could speak up, to snap and growl and shout his vicious words, his vicious truths, for that was who he was, the angry boy who would stop at nothing to be heard. But he couldn't speak. He couldn't ask.

He was scared to know the answer.

* * *

One person could only take so much shock before they completely lost themselves and succumbed to emptiness. Armin figured he was nearing that point as he clutched the phone in his sweaty hand and stared vacantly ahead of him. Jean was watching him expectantly. Eren was softly questioning him, so casually just asking what was going on, and Armin didn't know what to do or how to act, because this wasn't fair.

Not to Eren.

 _He's lost so much already_ , Armin thought, swallowing thickly.

"Oh," he said, taking a deep breath. "Okay."

" _Okay_?" Annie sounded a little impatient. " _You don't sound so surprised_."

"Sorry. Should I be?"

" _Yes_?"

"Sorry. Um…" He shot a glance at Eren, and he found himself grasping at his hair, running his fingers through it and bunching it up anxiously, unable to really let go. "Okay. I'll be right there." He blinked wildly, and he winced. "Wait, sorry, um, why do you want me there?"

" _Shiganshina isn't exactly prepared for deaths that could involve foul play_ ," she stated. Her voice was clipped and even. " _I want you to be my forensics guy. Just this once_."

Forensics? He nearly blurted out that he wasn't even a science major, that she was making a mistake, but he was keenly aware of Eren's eyes on him, of his confused stare and his concern, and Armin clamped up. He couldn't do it. He couldn't do it!

"Okay," he said.

" _Okay_ …" she said.

"So… yeah. I'll be right there." He tentatively hung up and handed the phone back to Jean. He took it. He stared.

"So…?" Jean leaned forward.

"Well…" Armin was still holding his hair. He quickly dropped his hand to his side, and made himself appear as relaxed as he could possibly get in this situation. He didn't want to alert Eren. "We need to go see Annie. Do we have a car?"

"Yeah," he said blankly. "I rented one. Yesterday. Armin, is there something you want to tell me?"

"Yeah," Armin admitted, lowering his gaze to the floor.

"Then…" Jean took a step into the room, and he paused. Armin glanced up at him, and saw his face had twisted in irritation. "God… you know, you never used to be like this. Secretive and distant and unapproachable."

Armin chewed on his tongue to keep himself from screaming. He inhaled sharply, trying to release his anger, but it wasn't really working.

"Now's not the time, Jean," he whispered.

"Then when is the fucking time?" Jean snapped. "Armin. Armin! Have you been paying attention? You are literally losing your fucking mind!"

"That rhymed," Eren remarked suddenly. Armin almost laughed, busted out into a fit of incredulous laughter.

"I know," he said, holding his hands up, vaguely signaling some surrender. "I know, okay? But now really is not the time. I promise we'll have this conversation, Jean, just not right now."

Jean stood in the doorway, half stuck outside the room and half leaning into it, and the way he looked at Armin spoke volumes. His eyes were dim and his expression fell to the kind of vacancy that Armin felt within himself, as though he'd given up trying to be surprised. Now he was just tired and numb and immune to Armin's bullshit.

He couldn't even blame him.

"Fine," Jean said crisply, turning away. "I guess I'll just wait for you to tell me."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, shut up," he sighed. He disappeared into the hall, and Armin slumped in utter defeat. How was he going to fix this? At this rate, telling Jean that Armin had been the one who had killed Eren would be a first class ticket to prison.

"Well," Eren chirped. "That was something. You gonna tell him?"

Armin shrugged. He didn't want to look or talk to Eren right now, but he had to find a way to get him off his back so he wouldn't find out about his father. At least until Armin could figure out what had happened, and he could break it to him softly.

He went to his room, closing the door slowly behind him. When he turned around, Eren was still standing there, watching him innocently with large, glassy green eyes framed by the curl of dark hair and dark blood stains. His chapped lips were parted and his visage was trembling in and out of focus, growing hazy and fading into the backdrop of the room before solidifying again.

"What's going on?" Eren asked cautiously.

"I have to go talk to Annie about something," Armin replied, running his hand through his damp hair. It felt weird to not have it tickling his neck. "I'll be back later though, so we can talk. About stuff. Maybe about that sacrifice thing. What the sacrifices are for?"

Eren frowned, and Armin decided to turn away, pulling his shirt off and tossing it aside. He felt a familiar, vague discomfort at Eren's eyes on his naked back, but he forced himself to pretend not to care. If Eren were still alive, how would this play out? Armin didn't want to think about it.

"Okay," Eren said. His voice was distant. Armin tugged on a dark sweater that swam on his frame, and he brushed his unruly hair from his eyes. This haircut made it difficult to keep it neat and tidy. "You should ask her out."

Armin froze. Eren's words hung in the air limply. Like a severed limb left discarded. He turned slowly to face him.

"What?" he asked flatly. Eren offered a little shrug.

"She liked you when we were younger," he said. Armin felt a twitch in his stomach, like a knot twisting. "I don't really know if she still does, but it can't hurt to try, right?"

"Eren," Armin said. "Eren… what the fuck?"

His eyes shot wide, and he blinked rapidly. "What?" he blurted, sounding desperately confused. "Why are you looking at me like I just kicked a dog?"

"You literally just told me you loved me," Armin exhaled, leaning back and resisting the urge to collapse on his bed. "Like, literally five minutes ago. And now you're telling me to go ask a girl out?"

"Yeah…?" Eren glanced up at the ceiling, and his eyes rolled casually toward the floor. "Uh… Armin, I don't really expect us to be… anything. I'm dead. You're not. Don't feel obligated to stay with me, okay?"

"But what if I want to?" he gasped, stumbling toward him, a hasty, lurching kind of shock that enveloped him and made him want to cry. "I mean… come on, Eren, this isn't fair."

"You're the one who wants me to move on, asshole," Eren snapped. Armin jerked in shock. "God, stop flipping back and forth! Do you want me to stay, or do you want me to go on to whatever is next?"

"I don't know!" He pressed his hand to his forehead, feeling overwhelmed and sickened. "Shit. Shit, I'm sorry. I can't do this right now."

"Fine," Eren said flatly. "Avoid it."

"Eren, that's not what I'm doing."

"I don't really care?" Eren sighed, and he looked down at the ground. "I love you. Yeah. That's true enough. But I'm not delusional. And I'm not a romantic, either. I don't think we could ever work out."

 _I don't want to hear this_ , Armin thought numbly.

"Can we not have this conversation now?" Armin asked weakly.

"Okay…" Eren flickered a bit, and Armin felt guilty. What was he feeling? What was he thinking? How did ghosts even process things without a brain, without a body? Was Eren just going off the memory of emotions? That had to be hard. "Sorry. For being so pushy. You don't have to ask anyone out, that was stupid. I just want you to be happy."

"I'll be happy as soon as I get this whole thing sorted out," Armin admitted, moving toward the door. "Um… anyway, I better go. You should get some rest."

"Why?"

There was a hint of suspicion there. Armin knew he wouldn't be able to hide this for long. "Just… I don't want you to fade away." He shot Eren a timid smile, and prayed that it was enough. That this was enough to appease him for just a little while. "Okay?"

"Eh." Eren shrugged. "I'm not gonna call bullshit, but only because I still kinda feel bad."

"Thanks." Armin blinked and turned away. "I think."

He exited the room quickly, hoping that Eren wouldn't change his mind and decide to follow him. He found Jean waiting in the living room, and he bowed his head guiltily. Why had they all fucked up so bad?

Why couldn't things just be simple?

Why, why, why?

"Are we waiting for Mikasa?" Jean asked.

"I'll text her on the way," Armin replied. "It seems pretty urgent."

"Who were you shouting at?"

Armin stiffened. He brushed past Jean, and he pulled open the front door. "Myself," he said simply.

Jean scoffed from behind him as he all but ran down the metal stairwell. "Yeah, okay."

"Why do you have your camera?" Armin asked as he got into the passenger side of Jean's rental.

"So I can photograph the crime scene?" Jean rolled his eyes. "Duh."

"You can't just…" Armin swallowed his words. Did he have any right to judge? He sank into his seat, feeling numbed by the shock and shudder of all the events that had shaken his life in the passing weeks. Ghosts of all kinds were sucking him dry, leaving him emptied of feeling and filled up to the brim with frothy memories. He was living in a pristine little shell and composed solely of filth.

He felt like there was still blood on him. Somewhere under his nails. On the inside of his arms? He wanted to paint his face red so everyone could see just how guilty he was.

He sighed, and he turned up the radio. The music vibrated inside his ears, filling him up and washing him out. He could hear the guitar pick rubbing rapidly against the metal strings, striking at the grooves and filling the air with a soft yet vicious thrum. He could not think or breathe with the ringing pangs of conflicting melodies in his head and in his heart, and he sunk further and further into his seat, wishing he could just melt into the leather backrest and relinquish all rights to existing to Eren.

"You really need to start taking your meds," Jean informed him.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied. "I will. Don't worry, I'm not going to try to kill myself again."

"Did you get jumped?" Jean was glancing at him curiously, and Armin shook his head, turning to peer out the window. Shiganshina rolled by. The same as ever and yet… everything about it seemed to have become grimy. He felt a shift in his own perception. Like that by ripping the shade from his eyes, he somehow left his vision filmy and monochrome.

"You know you're going to have to talk to me eventually."

"I will, okay?" Armin bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut and trying desperately to not panic. He hadn't been thinking of Dr. Jaeger, but as they pulled up to Eren's house, it was difficult to keep the anxiety from creeping up and threatening to asphyxiate him.

Jean parked as close as he could, but there were police cars everywhere. An ambulance. It made Armin feel incredibly anxious, like a thousand bees trapped beneath his skin and puncturing him from within, spreading throughout his body rapidly. He took a deep breath.

"This is really bad," he whispered. Jean glanced at him. He looked surprised, and he turned his face toward the house.

"Do you think whoever killed Eren killed his dad too?" Jean asked slowly.

Armin nearly laughed. "Probably not," he said. He paused, and glared up at the ceiling of the car. "Though to be honest, anything could happen."

"So what do you think, then?" Jean slumped. "I don't want to make assumptions but, like… what the hell?"

"I don't know…" Armin drummed his fingers against his seat, his anxiety only worsening with every moment. It made him feel lethargic and sick. He didn't want to go into that house. "He came to see me in the hospital. Dr. Jaeger? He…" Armin took a deep breath. "He knew something."

"What?" Jean twisted to face him, his eyes wide. "Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"When would I have told you?" Armin asked him bitterly. "You fucking left me there alone."

And then he exited the car, slamming the door shut after him. He marched up to the house, ignoring the officers who blinked at him, shot him odd looks, and he only paused when he saw Carla Jaeger sitting on the stoop of her house with her face in her hands.

 _She's lost everything and everyone_ , Armin thought, his heart expanding and shrinking, a balloon left to the vicious hand of the elements. He couldn't even look at her. It made him want to cry.

He texted Mikasa on his way in. Nothing but an SOS and his location. He didn't really have the time to debrief her on the details.

Someone stopped Jean. "Hey!" It was Nile Dawk. He looked angry. "What are you kids doing?"

"Annie Leonhardt called me in," Armin called back. He noted Carla jumped at the sound of his voice. "We'll be quick, sir, I swear!"

Nile Dawk, who had taken Dot Pixis's job, looked particularly sour about Armin's reply. But he did not stop them. Armin wondered what Annie had said to him to convince him to let Armin in.

Nostalgia smacked him so hard he paused mid-step, the familiarity of his surrounds muddling his brain. The air smelled distinctively like Eren, like his sweaters and his hair, and it made Armin's eyes water because even though Eren was always close, he was so far away, so lost to the sense of smell, of touch, of taste, even. This nostalgia made him want to vomit.

"Yo," Jean said, nudging him forward. He went. Stumbling, shaky, and a bit startled, he went walking through the living room and up the stairwell, pausing only when the grossly familiar scent of death punching him in the stomach, burning his nostrils and forcing him to a halt. There was a body lying only meters away, splayed across the hardwood, a limp, nightmarish figure. It just wasn't clicking.

This was Grisha Jaeger?

How sad and small he looked.

Annie looked up. She'd been crouching over the corpse, thick strands of pale hair falling over one eye and one cheek and half her nose. She blew it away, straightening up and calling him over. Armin felt a little sick, and as he wandered closer to the body, he found himself clapping his hands over his face and making a short, sharp noise of disgust.

"Oh god," he groaned, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. He slid his hands down his face, inhaling thick, soiled air. "Oh, what the hell…"

"This is gross," Jean admitted weakly. "What's… oh holy fuck, oh my  _god_ , oh fuckin'—!  _Shit_!" Jean latched onto Armin's shoulders, making him buckle from the sudden weight dropped upon him. His voice rung shrilly in his ear. "Fuckin' hell, that's his brains and gunk all over there, and… oh, ew…  _ew_ …!"

Annie was staring at them with a blank gaze and a flat expression, a sign that she was neither amused nor happy with their reaction. "Are you two done? Because I need a second opinion about something. Like, now."

Armin winced, and he blinked down at her. "I'm sorry," he murmured, running his hands through his hair. He didn't want to look at the body. He didn't want to think of the body as anything other than a body. He didn't know him. It was just another dead body.

She shrugged. "Just don't let me down," she warned in a low voice. Armin stared at her.  _Let her down?_  He thought about what Eren had said. That she had once liked him.  _Well it wouldn't be the first time I did, would it, Annie?_

They were creatures of habit after all.

"Um," he said, kneeling down across from her so he was crouching on the other side of the body. The face was rather not put together, a lot of blood and goop surrounding what was left of the jaw and mouth and nose. Armin tried to breathe through his mouth. "Well. Cause of death was definitely whatever when through here." Armin waved his index finger in a rapid semicircle from the gelatinous crater that was the nose to the hanging jaw.

"That'd be the gun in his hand, Armin."

"Oh!" Armin looked down, and saw there was, in fact, a gun sitting in the dead man's palm. "Well, shit. There you go. You should bag that."

Annie reached behind her and rolled up a pair of latex gloves in an evidence bag and tossed it to him. He caught it, squeaking a bit when it nearly fell onto the body. He pulled on the gloves, grimacing at the chalky texture that clung to his palms and fingers, and he lifted up the gun carefully. It wasn't difficult to pry from the body's hand. It seemed as though it had just been dropped there by mistake.

"What exactly happened?" Armin asked slowly. He slid the gun into the bag and sealed it.

"If I knew, I wouldn't be combing a dead guy for forensic evidence, would I?" Annie rolled her eyes. Violently. Armin shrunk back, and that seemed to jitter her a bit, because she sighed and relented. "We got a call from Carla almost an hour ago. She came home to this. Time of death is probably between one and two hours ago."

"Any signs of a break in?" Armin offered. She shook her head.

"Dawk wants to rule it a suicide," Annie said. She sounded very bitter, her eyes growing heavily lidded and her lips peeling back. "Dawk just doesn't want to have to put the effort and money into an investigation."

Armin bowed his head averting his eyes from the body and feeling vaguely lightheaded. His energy had been all but tapped, nothing left to keep him going but guttering fumes. He dropped his hands into his lap, discomforted and anxious. Bees beneath his skin and thoughts condensing into thick blocks, boarding up his senses blocking him from feeling.

He wanted to vomit.

"So like Eren?" Jean offered.

"Yeah, a bit." Annie glared at him. "Did I tell you to bring him?"

"Annie," Armin said softly. "This wasn't a suicide."

"I know that," she told him briskly, shooting him a chilly star. "You think you'd be here if it was?"

She had a point. He sighed, turning his eyes from the body to the area around it. He was in the hall, his body lying perpendicular to Eren's open door. His feet were stuck in the doorway, and Armin perked up. He glanced at the body, and then at Eren's open door.

"Hey," he said, "he was walking into Eren's room."

"Sorry?" Annie quirked a brow. She followed his gaze. "Oh. So… whoever shot him was in there already." Her eyes flashed to his face. "Do you think they left any evidence?"

Armin jumped to his feet. He overstepped the body carefully, hopping on his toes to get to the doorway. The door was ajar when he latched onto it, and he pushed it open slowly. The room looked as he remembered it. A large window yawned across the far wall, spilling an excessive amount of light onto the floor and the olive green walls turned a flickery pastel hue, ribbons of darkness ribbing along from the shadow of Eren's lightweight curtains. The bed was half unmade, rumpled black sheets sticking out of the haphazardly straightened blanket. His bed frame was wrought iron. Old, with flaking black paint clinging to its corroded skeleton. Eren's desk was still covered with shit, pens spilled over its surface, papers and binders thrown around, thumbtacks teetering on the edge of overflowing from a clay dish, and a textbook open with a notebook beside it. His bulletin board had photographs and postcards and valentines and little streamers, ribbons and braided bracelets and dog tags, too many things crowding in the corkboard's frame that memorabilia was spilling out, doodles and notes and polaroids tacked all along the surrounding wall.

It surreal to see the untouched room, dust gathering in the air, a shrine left for a long dead boy to return to.

For at the center of the room, Eren himself stood, his hollow eyes set on the doorway and blood glistening on his cheek.

Armin nearly screamed.

He stumbled backwards, his shoulder slamming sharply into the wall, and he cried out in pain, nearly stepping on the body's feet.

"What?" Annie leapt to her feet, sticking her head into the room and blinking around. "What is it?"

"N-nothing," he breathed, rubbing his shoulder and wincing. "It's nothing. I thought I saw a bug."

Annie's eyes whisked up toward him. Her disbelief was cold and biting, and he bowed his head in shame.

"Um…" He turned away from her, facing Eren and staring into his furious face. "Can you guys go check if the basement is locked?"

"What?" Annie asked flatly. "Why the basement?"

"I just feel like…" His eyes flickered along the ceiling, noting the cobwebs dangling in the sunlight and the dust surrounding an air vent. "I don't know… I think there might be some answers down there."

"I can't just leave you with a dead body," Annie said flatly. "Do you think I'm fucking stupid? Jean, go check the basement." Annie stepped into the room, half gripping the doorframe so she didn't step on Dr. Jaeger's legs.

"Sir, yes, sir," Jean barked dryly. "Gladly."

Armin shot Eren an apologetic stare, but he just wouldn't reciprocate. It made Armin's heart hurt desperately.

"I didn't call you to be a liability," Annie told him curtly. He stiffened. He whirled to face her, shooting her the most vicious glare he could muster.

"You shouldn't have called me at all," he snapped. "I'm a writer, Annie! An investigative journalism major!  _Not_ a science major!"

"Look, asshole," she said coolly, "I didn't have much of a choice, did I? The only "science" major I know is Ymir— and it doesn't take a genius to realize Poli Sci? That doesn't actually count. So what was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know?" Armin threw his hands out to punctuate his incredulity. "Maybe your  _job_?"

"We don't have a forensic scientist, Armin," she said sharply. "And I refuse to let this be ruled a suicide."

"The lot of you are so fucking useless," Armin spat, clenching his fists. The latex gloves squelched, and he exhaled shakily. He wanted to laugh. "You couldn't solve Eren's murder, you couldn't solve Levi's, and you definitely can't solve this! You just don't want to try!"

"I'm trying." Annie looked dangerously angry, her face darkening. She took a step forward, and Armin stared at her, his heart pounding furiously. He was devastated, and she couldn't understand, she couldn't even begin to comprehend. Tears burned his eyes. "You're talk a lot of shit for someone who left. You think you're so entitled because you came back to make a show of finding Eren, but you know it's not going to help you from feeling like shit."

Armin stared at her. He was struck with a sudden, poignant fear that gobbled up all the things inside him and left him dry of emotion.

"Oh," he uttered, taking a step back. Annie stared at him blankly.

"What?" She sneered, taking another step toward him and grabbing the front of his sweater. "What's that look for, huh?"

"You looked for Eren," he whispered, tears pooling in his vision, making her hazy. A vague yellow blot hovering before him. "When I was gone, you looked for him. You got Mikasa high, made her talk…" Armin stared down at her gloved hand clenching his sweater. "Did you… did you figure it out…?"

She stared up at him. Her eyes narrowed.

"Did  _you_?" she countered.

And he knew.

He stared into her eyes, and he knew.

"There's no helping Eren's case," he whispered, well aware of Eren's presence, "is there?"

Annie's eyes momentarily widened. She released him, and he slumped, folding his arms across his chest and sniffing pitifully.

"No, Armin," she said softly. "I don't think so."

What a crushing blow that was.

Truth be told, part of him was still holding out hope. But now he knew Eren would never be laid to rest. And it was all his fault.

"But that doesn't mean we can't help Eren's father's," she said suddenly, her voice brisk and pointed. "I refuse to let this one slide. No more of this bullshit. This one wasn't a suicide, and it certainly wasn't an accident. This was foul play."

Armin nodded mutely in agreement.

"So if the shooter was standing in here…" Annie craned her neck, her eyes roving Eren's room, glancing right of the ghost of its previous inhabitant and frowning. "What exactly was he doing?"

"Looking for something," Armin said quietly.

Annie sighed, and she brushed past him. "Well…" She peered around the room, still ignorant of Eren's ghost, and Armin found himself growing even more anxious, rubbing his gloved hands together and itching to scratch his scarred knuckles. "It looks like no one's even touched this room in awhile. Like everything's frozen exactly the way Eren left it…" She lifted a snow globe from the top of Eren's dresser, a mountain of purplish dust capping its murky glass bulb. "It's kind of sad."

Armin shot a weary glance at Eren. "Yes," he murmured. "Very sad."

Annie set the snow globe aside. It was from Greece, Armin was pretty sure. Something his father had bought him. The thought struck him as overwhelming, and he closed his eyes to relieve himself of the grief.

"Now here's the thing," Annie said, leaning back against Eren's dresser. "Who has a motive to kill Dr. Jaeger?"

Armin didn't know.  _Do I?_  he had to wonder, glancing at the worn soles of the body's shoes in the doorway. He remembered what Dr. Jaeger had told him in the hospital. Perhaps he  _did_  have a motive.

"It was Kenny."

Armin jolted a little, turning his face to Eren as the boy flickered and shook, blood congealing along the lines of his face. He'd spoken, and the words had been distant and broken, the garbled sound of someone speaking under water. Armin stared at him expectantly. And Eren stared. His dull green eyes saw right through Armin.

"My dad knew that Kenny killed Levi," Eren said flatly. "It was only a matter of time, I guess."

Armin itched to ask him how he knew that. How much he knew. But he refrained from it, and took a deep breath.

"You know who might have done it?" He met Annie's sharp gaze. "Kenny."

"Ackerman?" She didn't sound very surprised. "Can you link him to it?"

"Well… no…"

She sighed. "Okay," she said. "We'll run prints on the gun—"

"I doubt anything will show." Armin folded his arms across his chest, scowling up at the ceiling. "Kenny's pretty good at the whole murder thing."

"Good to know." Annie frowned, but she did not question it. "So what was he looking for?"

"Great question." Armin knew, of course. The locket. The one that had undoubtedly caused Levi to haunt Eren. So… where was it? Had Kenny found it? Did it really matter if he had it or not?

"How'd Kenny get in?" Annie strode up to Eren's window, walking right through him and rolling her shoulders in a slight shiver. She parted the curtains, glancing the window up and down. "This is the second floor. A lower level then?"

Armin had to think. He mapped out the house in his head, the front entrance, living room, stairs. There was a door beneath the stairs, directly beside the couch, that led to the basement. Armin blinked wildly, and he looked into Eren's face, his mouth dropping open.

"Do you think he got in through the basement?" he asked in a soft, fearful voice. Eren's eyes widened.

Annie looked at him sharply. Her brow furrowed, and she glanced at the door. "Wait," she said. "Shit." An earsplitting shriek echoed through the house, distant and terrified, snapping like an elastic band inside Armin's ears. "Jean!"

"Jean…?" Armin uttered, stuck in place. "Oh. Oh, fuck!"

The screaming continued, reverberating across the walls and drifting across the floor, rising up through the cracks and crevices of the house, the flaws in its foundation. Eren had disappeared in a blink, a sharp, vicious tear of his visage, and Annie ran, leaping over Dr. Jaeger's body and running down the hall. Armin followed her at a slower pace, his legs cramping, his movements slow and lethargic. The screams were getting louder. As he descended the stairwell, they became clear, bullets of words smashing into his skull.

"Help!" Jean was shrieking, the sound like a wounded animal caught in a trap. "Let me go, let me go, let me go!"

"Jean?" Armin stumbled into Annie's back as she jostled the knob of the basement door. "Jean, can you hear me?"

He didn't respond. There was only fearful cries. From behind the door, Armin heard the familiar scratch of nails.  _Levi_ , he thought furiously. Nails dragging softly across wood. Screams of absolute terror bleeding from the crack beneath the door, Jean's voice drifting in a whispery plea, "Oh god, oh god, oh god…"

"Jean!" Armin banged on the door, pausing only to press his cheek against the wood and listen closely as the screams melted into whimpers, and the dragging of nails grew louder. There was a slam. And then another. A quick succession of a noise that Armin realized could only be Jean's palms smacking against the steps, one after the other, as he was dragged down into the basement.

"What is that?" Annie kicked the door furiously, baring her teeth at it. "What the fuck is that?"

"I don't know," Armin gasped, looking around the room hurriedly. "Shit, what do we do? Should we get someone from outside to help us break it down?"

"Who even locked it?" Annie exhaled sharply as Jean's screams picked up again.

"Guys!" he cried, his voice muffled by the distance. "Guys, something's got me, something… oh my god…"

"Just hold on, okay, Jean?" Armin called. "Annie's gonna get you out!"

"Me?" Annie's eyes froze upon his face.

"You're the cop!"

"Christ," Annie muttered. "Okay, get back."

"What are you going to…?" Armin jumped backwards at the sight of her gun. She yanked off her gloves and tossed them aside, leveling the gun with her arm.

Just as she was about to shoot, the door creaked open.

Armin's heart thudded, the hair on his arms and neck standing on end. He shrunk in his terror, his lips parting meagerly, forming soft pleas. Annie moved cautiously, pulling open the door and peering within.

Eren was standing at the landing. His head was bowed.

"Jean?" Annie called. She touched the knob, and blinked rapidly, grasping it and peering at it closely. "This door doesn't have a lock."

"What?" Armin asked weakly.

"God damn it," Annie hissed. "Jean, I'm coming down there, okay?" She grabbed a flashlight from her belt, using it as a guide to point her gun. The stairs creaked and moaned from the pressure of her feet, and as Armin watched them move, he saw the long, jagged claw marks that scarred the surface of the wood. A myriad of them.

It hadn't been Levi scratching at all. It'd been Jean.

And by the looks of it, his claw marks weren't the only one.

Armin turned to face Eren, staring desperately into his face. "What  _happened_?" he whispered fiercely. "What was that?"

Eren shook his head. "Sorry," he said weakly. He sounded… and looked… vaguely traumatized. "I didn't think she was still around."

" _She_?"

"Armin!" Annie shouted. "Armin, get down here!"

He shot Eren a desperate glance. But Eren simply gazed ahead, his cloudy green eyes growing dimmer and dimmer. He blotted out of existence like film burning under the heat of a projector's light.

Armin took his time making his way down the steps. The air was suddenly frigid, rising up to slap him across the jaw, run through his hair and down his spine, sinking into his skin and into his bones. He took a deep breath, and it tasted like mildew, dust clogging his airways. He stopped on the second to last step. It was completely dark in the basement except for the occasional rectangular smear of dirt that could probably pass for a window. One was just ajar enough to suggest it'd been tampered with. And of course Annie's flashlight, which settled on Jean's pallid, vacant face.

"Jean?" Armin crouched before him. He was on his hands and knees at the foot of the stairs. He looked up, his tawny eyes wide and red rimmed. There were thin wet lines from tears that had found their way down his cheeks. He was trembling, his mouth parted and his breathing ragged. "Hey… Jean… it's okay. Can you stand up?"

He nodded mutely, reaching out and grasping Annie's shoulder. Armin reached out, helping him stumble to his feet.

"Holy fuck," he exhaled, his voice pitchy and thin. "Oh my god. Did that just happen? Fuck. Am I alive right now?"

"I'd say so," Armin said lightly. "Come on, one foot forward."

"Yeah, yeah," he gasped. "Dude, I think I pissed my pants."

"You can borrow a pair of Eren's."

"Oh that's creepy." He shuddered. "Wearing a dead boy's pants."

"You mind telling us what happened?" Annie asked sharply.

"Oh." Jean took a deep breath. "Right. Fuck. Um… well, I was just kinda wandering, and there was no light switch, so I was using my phone. It looked like a bunch of weird junk, but I saw a picture, and I thought, hey. Ain't that something? So I took it, and as I was coming up the stairs something grabbed me and started pulling me down."

"Something?" Annie peered at him. Her flashlight flickered in the darkness. Her face was abnormally pale.

"Okay, someone. A woman."

"A woman?" Armin blurted.  _She_.

"Yeah, she was… fuck, she was strong. She was hissing something. I don't know. Whispering. Crying. Laughing…?" Jean shuddered with the creaky steps. "God… I didn't even… that was so fucking scary…"

"I can imagine," Armin said vacantly.

"But!" Jean tore away from them, rushing into the light of the living room and whirling to face them as they stood in the doorway. "I've got some great news!"

"What?" Annie asked flatly. "How can you be so cheerful?"

"I pissed my pants," Jean said, his voice flat and his eyes dull. "I literally have zero shame left. But seriously." He held up his camera, and he grinned broadly. "Guess who got the bitch on film?"


	18. Chapter 18

**the confession**

It had taken him hours upon hours to finally fall asleep. There was a steady sense of restlessness that could not be properly quelled, and so he suffered through it. He felt a stirring inside his stomach, an unbearable guilt that squeezed and clenched at all his vitals, making haste and making rounds, a cyclical motion of utter devastation. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to feel? He wanted to scream, but he didn't think anyone would hear him.

So the night drew on, and he let himself lie in the dark and listen to scratching, listen to distant whimpers, listen to his own uneven breath, and listen to a conversation on replay.

" _What the fuck do you want_?" Ymir's voice had bit through the receiver, heated and vicious.

He'd leaned back in his chair, dropping his pen onto his desk. He stared confusedly at his bulletin board, his eyes landing on a picture of Ymir's haughty brown face. She'd stolen his camera at one point, a summer ago perhaps, and taken an absurd amount of pictures. This one Eren had gotten developed. She was sticking her tongue out at an angled lens, and her freckled face was sun-slick and reddening as it baked. And she looked happy.

He'd developed another photo from that escapade, a candid shot of Christa lazing on the riverbank, her hair tied loosely back as she filtered the water through her white, slender fingers, the current spitting back in her face and leaving what was visible of her expression utterly astonished.

"Testy," Eren had remarked in a small voice. Something felt wrong. His stomach was already aching from worry. "I just want to talk to Christa. Considering this is, y'know, her phone?"

" _You two talk an awful lot_ ," Ymir sneered. " _All very secretive stuff, huh? Did you fucking know_?"

"Huh?" His heart dropped into his stomach. He touched his throat, and the distant memory of someone whispering in his ear, of some ghostly fingers fastening a cloth around his neck. His own fingers. His own voice. "Did I know… what…?"

" _Why are you acting dumb_?" Ymir asked briskly. " _I know you know about her depression_."

"Is that what this is about…?" Eren had frowned. "I know about that, yeah. Is she not taking her antidepressants?" He'd frozen, staring at the candid photograph of the girl, of her shocked face and her messy hair, and his insides seemed to all knot up into one great writhing mass of nerves. "Wait… don't tell me she—!"

" _Do her a favor, Eren_ ," Ymir said coolly. " _Stop calling her. Whatever you guys talk about, I want it to stop. Whenever you talk to her, she gets worse. So if you don't have anything positive to say, don't talk to her at all. Is that clear enough_?"

"So then…" He'd let himself relax. If at least a little bit. "She's okay? She didn't do it?"

" _Well she certainly tried_ ," Ymir snapped.

His heart had expanded. He felt as though it had were about to explode from the weight that had suddenly pooled into it, loading his organs with gunpowder and substitution his blood for kerosene. He felt bile stinging the back of his throat, and he tried to push all of this behind him, as though he could convince himself that it wasn't a big deal.

But it was. Because he'd been there.

 _Stupid_ , he thought viciously, glaring at Christa's hazy photograph. His tears were making the edges of his vision blear, and the room swam.  _You stupid, selfish, piece of shit friend._

If they had just talked… if they had just really talked about the horrors they were experiencing… would this be happening? One suicide attempt after another? Clumsy attempts to get out of this hellish haunting.

That was exactly what they were. Stupid and clumsy.

"Can you tell her I called?" Eren had asked hoarsely.

" _Give me a reason why I should_ ," Ymir had retorted in her sweet, low drawl.

"Don't be a bitch," he snapped. "I just want her to know that I actually care."

" _Yeah_?" Ymir had sounded bored. " _If you care so much, why don't you tell me what all this is about_?"

Eren had frozen. He considered it briefly, his jaw unhinging to blurt out all the secrets, the murder and the ghosts and the rituals and the fact that their parents were all part of this huge awful conspiracy. But there had to be a reason why Ymir didn't know. He thought about Armin and Mikasa, and how he'd been aching and itching all over to just tell them everything so he didn't have to be all alone in dealing.

But there was a reason they didn't know.

Stupid and clumsy.

That was true enough for them all.

"Talk to her about it," he'd said fiercely. "Like, if she hasn't told you then why the fuck should I? Just tell her I called, okay? Please?"

" _Yeah, okay, whatever_." And then she'd promptly hung up.

He rolled onto his back, his foot dangling off the edge of his bed as he stared up at the gaunt ceiling. He felt so sick with guilt. Why did Christa have to be so stubborn? Why couldn't they just work together on this? Why did she insist on pretending like nothing was wrong all the fucking time? It made him want to just cease existing so he wouldn't have to deal with all the lying and all the pressure.

He wanted to tell them. Mikasa especially. But he was so scared. He was so anxious and scared, and what would happen afterwards? Things would just get harder to deal with. She'd be haunted just the same. And  _Armin_!

If Eren could help it, he'd protect them from this desolation any way he possibly could.

If he fell asleep now, would he even wake up? Who was to say he wouldn't just off himself in his sleep? That was how it went, wasn't it?

He felt like he wasn't even himself. Like he wasn't anyone. Just a pile of meat and bones strung up and paraded around to shout and laugh and sneer at some idiot's command. It was all so fucking mechanical, and it made him sick! He was so fucking sick!

Sick, sick, sick, sick! Sick of himself, sick of this ashen ceiling, sick of this whispery curtain that draped over him when he least expected it, sick of how goddamn false everything in his life was!

But he didn't want to be sad and sick. He liked being happy. He liked his friends. He liked listening to them. He liked running around and he liked picking fights and he liked it when he felt like he was in control, like he was ahead of the curve, like the sickness was reeling to catch up when he had a grip on reality.

It didn't feel right. He didn't even know what was wrong with him.

Was any of this even real?

Would he even remember this in the morning?

The soft sound of footsteps sliced the thick blanket of silence to ribbons. From behind the walls, behind his door, the padding of tiny feet crept into his ears. Tiny noises. Tiny people. Tiny thoughts and tiny feelings. Him. Christa. Ymir and Mikasa and Armin. They were all just tiny and thoughtless and cruel. Especially to each other.

Yeah.

That's right…

They were  _all_ sick.

The footsteps stopped all too suddenly. His door opened, clicking softly, and there was an odd sensation. Familiar, but equally foreign, something like being the taste of the woods on a cold day. He blinked rapidly at his ceiling, and he sat up slowly. His first thought went immediately to Levi.  _Well_ , he thought,  _took the asshole long enough_. But he realized quickly that Levi was not there at all.

Through the small crack of his open door, he saw a wisp of dark hair. Familiar in color, familiar in appearance. Right. He relaxed. His mother had just decided to check on him.

He kicked his blankets back, the frigid air hitting his bare legs and causing him to shudder.

The guilt was still gnawing at him, and as he took a few steps toward the door, the unease only seemed to worsen. His room growing unbearably cold, and as he inhaled, the scent of dead leaves and wet soil burned his noise and clogged his throat. The doorknob was icy as he pulled the door open, stepping carefully into the hall and peering into the foggy darkness.

"Mom?" he called, lifting his hands meagerly feel the air before him as he walked. His toes caught on a slick spot on the wood, and he bit his tongue to stifle a shriek, nothing but a mouse-like squeak rising from his throat. His bare soles had slipped into something wet, a small puddle, and he squinted at his feet. What was this? A new trick? A new facet of haunting that he hadn't experienced yet?

He hoped this one would be erased from his memory. He felt unbearably scared. But his curiosity kept him moving, and the reminder that his mother was awake. She could easily be in danger.

Rubbing his eyes didn't make the fog disappear. He thought it might. That maybe the haze was just a product of his exhaustion. Of his paranoia. Terror. He could easily make up monsters to make the real monsters seem less horrifying. He could easily just psych himself out.

But this fog was not lifting, and the more he stepped, the more he noticed he was trudging down a half-flooded hall. The floor was slick and wet and he didn't know why. His heartbeat was accelerating, pounding at a rate that made it seem as though it had leapt from his chest to his throat and it pulsed through his head and inside his ears. His fingernails dug into his palms.

After all this time, the fear just would not go away.

There was no picking fist fights with ghosts.

No snappy words or righteous cries would do him any good here.

He wanted to go back to his room, but he thought of his mother, and so he tentatively took the stairwell down into the living room. Everything was black and white. A hazy old film, a 1920's noir gone wrong, and all the projector's lenses were dusty with age, and all the strips were porous from the holes burned away by unrestricted heat. He blew mist into the air. It blew back with the force of some impossible wind.

He stood, swaying dizzily in place. His eyes moved expertly to all the places he expected. The ceiling first. The little bastard loved to crawl around up there. Behind a chair arm. Beneath the table. The spot directly behind Eren's head.

He whirled around a few times to make sure nothing was lurking at his back.

"This isn't funny," he called out into the ether of grayscale. Fog was pooling on the floor and that worried him, because he realized anything could be crawling beneath it. Little hands. Little scratchy fingers.  _Help, help_. Always with that whispery little voice.  _Please help me_.

Why couldn't he just shut the fuck up and realize he was already dead?

He listened to his breath rattle in the rolling silence, only faint sounds brushing his eardrums. White noise. Like a swooping, rushing inside his brain. He shuddered. Like a waterfall, or something.

"Mom…?" Eren rubbed his arms, taking a step back toward the stairs. If his mother wasn't downstairs, he sure as hell wasn't gonna stick around to see the horror show play out.

There was a soft moaning sound that drifted through the air, puncturing the endless silence and making Eren's head snap toward the basement door. Of course. Of course! Why didn't he think of that? The basement was right there, of course that'd be the place!

The moaning drifted on, a thirty second track on an album of discordant rhythms.

He nearly just turned around and ran right back upstairs.

But then he listened. Really listened. And anger shot through him as something clicked inside his head.

The moaning was too high to be a man and too low to be a child.

"Mom," he choked, spinning on his wet feet, listening as they squeaked on the wooden floor, and he fell over himself clambering over the couch and feeling through the mist trying to get to the basement door. "Mom!"

He threw open the door. Darkness met him.

Everything around him seemed to disappear. He stood in the doorway, feeling faint and lightheaded. This was familiar. Ghosts were easy to pick out. But again, something was foreign about the way this was going about. It felt too… real. He was too awake. Too lucid for sure.

This wasn't a cry for help or an attempt at possession.

Two pale hands emerged from the darkness and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. He let out a shriek, a shrill cry of utter terror as he was yanked forward into the darkness, and the door was slammed shut behind him.

His feet clapped into a puddle at the landing, his face smashing into the line of coats hanging from a hook parallel to the door. Icy water clung to his calves and numbed his toes, sending a quick succession of chills shooting up his spine. Like a series of electric shocks crawling from his toes to his brain. Blackness clung to his eyes, and he muffled a cry of shock into the heavy jacket his father often wore in the winter. His father's musk filled his nose and mouth, the stifling aroma of antiseptic and piney cologne and some underlying tinge of sickness.

The spindly fingers had him by the shirt. Cold, bony, wet, and unbearably small. The ice water was sinking into his skin, and he couldn't do a thing about it, because he couldn't see and he couldn't move.

Something heavy pressed into his back. The shock of it, a bucket of chilled water splashed down his spine, sent him screaming into his father's thick winter sleeve, and he blinked rapidly as slender arms slithered around his chest, and a heavy, whispery breath rattled in his ear. Every hair on his body seemed to stand on end as the bony fingers dug into his chest, pain shooting into his heart.

"Oh, oh, oh!" sang a rasping, muffled voice. It was musical in some twisted way, like the patter of rain against wood. "Oh, oh, oh! Little boy's grown some… a little high…" Wet fingers flicked through his hair and swiped down his spine. "A little low…"

He screamed again as the fingers closed around his ankles and yanked him effortlessly off his feet. His arms bent awkwardly against the wall, and his chin smashed painfully into the rickety wood. His body was slipping from the landing, and his stomach flipped as he was dragged downward.

"Let me go!" he gasped, his fingers flying through the darkness, reaching and snatching a coat hem. He clung to his, listening to the hook whine and squeak in objection to the weight he put on it. The fingers were digging into his ankles, wet and bony and thin, and his entire body was shaking from the chills and from the dampness of ice water drenching through his shirt and shorts. The coat he was clinging to was torn from the hook, and in the shock of its fall Eren released it. His stomach slid against the protrusion of the first step like a punch in the gut.

He kicked and screamed, his own voice filling up his ears like clogging water, his fingernails swiping vainly at the wooden step. He was being pulled down fast, too fast for him to get a grip, and every step hit him like a vicious, biting blow. His chin kept smashing into the wood, and he felt blood in his mouth from the repeated clanging of his teeth against the tip of his tongue and the inside of his cheeks. His screams melted into the melody of scratching, the familiar desperate song of Levi's little ghost.

This was familiar at least. Images were flashing in his brain, reminders of all the times he'd awoken with his face against a wall and his fingernails filed to the stubs from scratching away at his walls for hours and hours without knowing how he'd gotten there or why this was happening to him.

He gritted his teeth. No. No way! He wouldn't let this control him!

So much had already been torn away from him. This quiet resignation to a life of horror was not for him. No fucking way!

He latched onto a step, his finger clamping to its riser-less back. He could feel the lower half of his body being tugged by some unknown force, weight clinging to him and stretching his muscles painfully. His entire body cramped as he dug his finger into the wood and screamed.

"Get off me," he exhaled, kicking his feet madly, twisting himself about so that he might shake whatever was holding onto him off. "Get the fuck off me! Let me go, let me go, let me  _go_!"

He felt suddenly lightheaded. The weight was not so much on his ankles anymore, but enveloping the entire lower half of his body, swallowing him up like a shadow. It crept heavily onto his back and laid across his shoulders, sinking into him and latching onto him, the scent of river clay and pine needles tickling his nostrils. It was damp and acrid all around him, and he could barely breath. The sharp edges of the steps were digging into his ribs, his stomach, his hips, his knees.

"Let you go…?" The voice was back, stronger and strident, whistling through his ears like the lips blowing against a pipe. "Little boy, scared of dark, scared of water, scared to listen, scared to know…"

"Shut up," he coughed, dust and mud clinging to his tongue. He listened. His fingernails were carving little lacerations into the face of the step. He was losing his grip. On the steps, on reality. "Shut the fuck up!"

Scared to know…?

He rested his forehead against the step. He exhaled shakily, and it hurt to just lie there.

Scared to know.

Was that true?

 _I always try to ignore Levi_ , he thought dimly.  _I try not to let him get to me. But… what if that's the problem?_

Scared to know.

"Scared to let go…?"

The words were hummed into his neck.

Scared…?

Yeah. He was utterly terrified.

But that was okay. It was okay.

Something was clicking in his mind.

"Who…?" He lifted his head. Something cold and wet was pressing to his cheek. A flash of anger struck him, a great, shuddering rage, and he gritted his teeth. "I'm not scared," he whispered fiercely.

He pushed off the step, and he squeezed his eyes shut as his body tipped backwards and smashed into the steps one by one, the back of his head and his shoulders and his spine all colliding painfully, shooting sharp pangs throughout his entire body until finally he crashed upon the concrete floor in a pile of battered limbs.

Everything was cold. At first he thought he was dead, that he'd hit his head too hard against the concrete and the head trauma had killed him. But he realized that the basement was just a naturally frigid place, and the air was so thick and damp and dark that it gave the illusion of some kind of icy hell.

He let himself lie on the ground in defeat, his body bruised beyond belief and his heart pounding beyond relief. He wasn't exactly sure what had happened. With Levi, with the usual haunting, Eren was somewhat aware of what was happening, but when push came to shove, he was out like a light. He didn't know why. Maybe Levi just didn't want him to remember the details of being possessed. But this was different. This was unlike anything Eren had ever experienced before.

This ghost was intentionally causing him pain.

With Levi, something told Eren that the haunting was mostly some odd way of communication. Mere presence was a warning. The scratching in the night, that was a reminder. Something awful had happened, and Eren didn't really know what or why. And possession, that was desperation creeping in. Listen.

Why didn't he ever listen?

Anyway, Eren couldn't figure out the reasoning behind the suicide attempt. He didn't think it was that bad. He didn't think he was that bad. But then it came right down to it. The medication, the insomnia, the bad vibes that wouldn't go away. He didn't really know where he was or what he was doing. In his life, in his thoughts, in his searching for answers. It was all muddled.

And he supposed he was in a lot of pain. Just… residual pain that carried from one bad experience to the next. Being haunted hurt. Fear hurt. He tried not to be scared, but saying over and over that he wasn't afraid only helped so much.

Death probably would have been easier than this.

 _But_ , he thought numbly,  _I don't want to die. I didn't want to die then, either. So why did I do it?_

Soft, warm fingers pressed against his cheek. He groaned, and he shuddered as his body was lifted gently, his head and shoulders shifted into a pillow of cool satin. The basement was half-lit from the dim grayish light of streetlamps fighting its way through the grimy windows. He blinked rapidly, listening to the creak and the clap of feet colliding with the floor upstairs. He allowed himself some relief. His parents had heard him, and he would be okay.

He realized that the pillow his head was resting on was not a pillow at all. His head was resting in the lap of a pretty young woman whose hair pooled delicately around her face and shoulders. She smiled down at him.

"I'm sorry, little boy," she said softly, combing his hair with her bony fingers. They were still wet. Whatever she was doing, he could sense that something had changed in her between the top of the stair and the bottom. "The sadness in people like you and I does not give so easy into joy."

 _Stop rhyming_ , he wished he could say. But his face hurt too badly to speak. His tongue throbbed from being bitten so many times.

"So, little boy," she cooed, "do not fear the water and the dark any longer."

"I'm not scared…" he mumbled. Droplets of water were pattering onto his forehead like a string of kisses.

"So, fall a little, boy," she continued as her voice and existence waned, and his head was lowered to the dusty floor. "One or two or three little deaths should not make someone any stronger."

And in his head he could hear the rush of water, feel a stone slab beneath his feet, and taste the bite of the forest, the pine and the dead leaves and the mossy wood all mixed together into a frightening aroma. Something lonely. An isolated smell.

When his father finally got to him, rushing down the stairs and calling his name, Eren allowed himself to reach up and cling to him. He smelled so nice and safe and familiar, antiseptic and cologne and some underlying awfulness that could be batted away with some nuzzling and some crying.

He cried and sobbed and screamed and howled.

What could he do?

Someone was going to die.

But did it really have to be  _him_?

* * *

"Grisha Jaeger," Armin uttered, leaning over the kitchen table and pointing to the man's face. It was far more youthful here, relieved of stress wrinkles and of facial hair. He almost looked like Eren in some unnerving, hulking way. "Kenny Ackerman…" Kenny looked no different. His face was still sunken and his expression was still flat and sour. "Rod Reiss…" The portly old man seemed younger here too, slimmer and more dignified. "And…"

"The prime minister, though," Jean whistled. They were alone in the apartment, for Mikasa had gone to stay with Carla Jaeger and Annie had to continue working. "Like what the hell is that? Kenny and Grisha being chummy with the prime minister?"

"I'm more concerned with her." Armin pointed to the fourth person in the photograph, the lone woman of the group who was much younger than her companions. She was perhaps twenty or so, her hair long and limp and her smile thin and empty. There was something familiar about the way she smiled, the loose, vacuous twitch of her lips.

"Hm?" Jean leaned over the table to peer at the pretty face below Armin's index finger. He tilted his head, and his expression softened. "She's really hot, isn't she?" His expression darkened. "Why the fuck is she hanging out with all these old creeps?"

"Amazing," Armin said, resting his cheek against his fist. Jean shot him a furious glare.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" He cupped his ear and jutted his chin a bit, his lips curling back into a sneer. "I couldn't hear you over all that nasty ass sarcasm. At least I'm trying to figure shit out!"

Armin leaned back. He didn't want to fight with Jean anymore, but it was hard not to when Armin was still keeping a shit ton of secrets from him. And also, he felt guilty for what had happened in the basement. Jean had gotten off relatively easy with the whole haunting business until now.

"I'm sorry, you're right," he said softly. Jean dropped back into his seat, looking a little stunned. "I mean, you have a really good point. One thing isn't like the others, and it's this girl. So why is she there? What's she got to do with any of this?"

Jean sat for a moment, his eyes wide and wrinkles marring his brow from immense confusion. Armin stared at him expectantly. He  _knew_  he was being unfair. Jean was completely in the dark, and that was all Armin's fault. But the truth was that Armin just didn't know if he could trust Jean with the truth. Was that awful of him?

"You know," Jean said, snatching the photo from before Armin and pulling it close to his face. "You know what? I just realized how this ties everyone together!"

"What?" Armin asked flatly.

"Mikasa and Eren!" Jean threw the photo down. "Levi and Eren! I mean I don't really know about the prime minister, but like, I'm not all that surprised. Anyway, this connects Kenny to Eren, doesn't it?"

Armin shifted in discomfort. Well, Jean wasn't wrong. But Armin also needed to consider what he knew. This photograph put a Jaeger, an Ackerman, and a Reiss all together.

Armin's eyes traveled to the woman's face. Could she be an outsider like him? An unwanted, unprecedented addition to some heinous ritual?

_How did that end for her, I wonder….?_

He bowed his head, letting his hair fall into his eyes and blind him. To put it simply, there was no way to go about this without spilling something to Jean. It'd be easier if he could just say everything now, clear the air and let it all out into the open. But again, it was a matter of trust. Armin didn't want to end up in jail.

He looked up at Jean, and he let his face become softer, kinder, his eyes widening and brightening. "Do you want to talk about what happened in the basement?" he asked tentatively.

Jean blinked. "Uh…" He scratched his head. He shrugged. "Well, honestly, it's kinda a blur. It was really dark, and at the time I couldn't be completely sure  _what_  was going on. Y'know?"

"We could look at the picture you took," Armin offered. "You said it was a girl, right?"

"Well… yeah…" Jean frowned. "Also, it was a video. I'm not gonna lie, I don't know how it'll look. Probably like something right out of  _The Blair Witch Project_." He shuddered, hanging his head back and staring at the ceiling. "God, why did you drop me in the middle of a found footage horror movie?"

"Sounds like he doesn't like you very much," Armin hummed, smiling teasingly. Jean rolled his eyes.

"Anyway…" Jean's eyes flashed away, and he looked a little distant and bored all of a sudden. "It wasn't exactly how I expected to have my first paranormal experience."

"Yes," Armin said in a soft, dull voice, "I'm disappointed that the ghosts didn't try something a little more subtle for your first time."

"You're making it sound like I lost my virginity or something."

"Now we both know that's not true," Armin said dryly.

Jean shot him an irritated glare. "Fuck you."

He laughed nervously. Oh, he knew he was getting on Jean's nerves. It wasn't really a difficult thing to do. But they'd lived together for a few years, so it was easy to tell when something legitimately bothered Jean. This slight teasing was mostly affectionate.

"Ugh, whatever." Jean pushed himself to his feet, kicking his chair out of the way. "I'm getting my computer."

"Okay," Armin said brightly, watching Jean's back as he disappeared through the doorway. When he was completely out of sight, Armin dropped back into his chair, glowering at the photograph on the table and stretching his arms before him. He hoped some kind of epiphany would come. But he was as lost as ever, sitting alone in the dimly lit kitchen, once more forcing feelings and playing faces. When would the lies end?

"A girl…" Armin held up the photo to the dreary, dusty light that pooled in from the small window. He stared at the woman's face. Delicate, doe eyed, and undeniably beautiful. Jean had been right. It was weird that such a young girl was hanging around with the creep squad. He looked up at the ceiling, contemplating the explanations. She could be the missing piece of the puzzle. The one with all the answers.

But… the more Armin looked at her, his eyes swerving from her face to Reiss's, to Kenny's, to Dr. Jaeger's… his gut clenched anxiously, and he felt vaguely sick.

Armin could see a grand puzzle before him, all the pieces beginning to align and connect, a pile of them dwindling to the single digits. And yet, he could sense that this particular piece was not simply missing. It was lost.

He tossed the photograph down and gritted his teeth. If he went about thinking like this, he might as well lump Historia in with the ghosts.

A stone dropped into his stomach.

He straightened up, something hitting him hard and fast— a grenade blast obliterating all sensations and forcing him to deal with a thousand different shards of shrapnel all at once.

Historia!

 _What if_ , he thought frantically, his eyes darting through the faces in the photo,  _the missing piece and the lost piece are the same?_

He clamped his hands over his head, snatching at his hair as his thoughts sped up, too fast for even him to discern, and he could have laughed from the strange mixture of weightlessness and suffocation that swarmed his lungs.

"What's got you all excited?"

Jean dropped his laptop onto the table, plugging in his camera as Armin ran his fingers through his hair, drumming them against his scalp and nodding slowly to himself. No, no, no, he was definitely getting somewhere! It was a hunch, but it was better than nothing.

Things were growing clearer in his head. Ever since he'd found out the truth, he felt like a fog had lifted within his soul. The veil had been torn from his eyes, and everything was suddenly brighter and starker and it hurt to see because his eyes were still sensitive from the years and years of darkness.

"Huh?" Armin lifted his head and lowered his hands, smiling a vacant, uncertain smile. "This is excited?"

"Anxious?" Jean offered. "Whatever? Um, you've got that look. Like… you know… eureka?" He snapped his fingers at Armin's face without looking at him. Instead he faced his laptop, typing away and humming along to some unfamiliar tune. "Did you figure something out?"

"I…" Armin sunk into his seat, his hands twiddling in his lap. "I don't really know yet. But maybe. Maybe, definitely."

"You want to share?"

"Let me make sure of some things first."

Jean rolled his eyes violently, his jaw clenching as he nodded. Okay. Now that was a definite sign that he was pissed at Armin. And of course he couldn't really be blamed, could he? Of course not. Armin was being a first rate asshole by intentionally keeping things from Jean. But at this point, what could be done about that? It'd all unravel some way or another.

Armin was a little giddy in anticipation for the carnage.

 _I don't know how I'll hold up in jail,_  he thought, watching the cursor move across Jean's screen.  _I guess I could figure out the system. Maybe my sentence won't be so bad and I'll get out eventually_.

God, what was he even thinking? It wasn't like he'd be able to confess to Eren's murder anyway. Mikasa had that shit under lock and key no matter what went down. If he was convicted, she'd be the one serving the heavier sentence no matter what.

He scratched his knuckles irritably. These thoughts were making him nauseous. Doubt and anxiety and paranoia swam through him and gnawed away at his innards, organs turning to mush and sloshing around with every twitch of his torso.

He felt disgusting, but at least for once he knew  _why_.

 _Murder, murder, murder_ , he thought giddily, his body sinking further into his chair as the recording started, soft shuffling filling the air as the camera was jostled furiously. Jean's voice was muffled into something, his arms perhaps. The screen was dark and fuzzy.

Murder, murder, murder.

Panic and fear and anxiety wouldn't help him.

No, no, no.

The only person who could help him was himself, it seemed.

Murderer, murderer, murderer!

Was this how it was going to be from now on? Intelligence muddled with madness, thoughts streaming through a forked, rocky ravine and broken up and rearranged and sloshed around upon impact? Revelations poised to make their debut, only to be squashed by the toiling guilt that could not be quelled, an excited, giddy tempest roaring inside his head.

Oh, oh, oh!

Yes, now he understood. This was how it all worked. If he was going to continue living with this horror, this reality of his that had created some unbearable monster of him, then he would have to embrace it.

Fighting had gotten him nowhere. And now the air was clearing, and even with his head in a rush and his heart in a bind, he could see the paths ahead of him with jarring clarity.

"Holy shit," Jean exhaled. Armin snapped out of his reverie, blinking rapidly as he was swatted profusely on the arm. "Holy shit!"

His eyes moved to the screen, and he listened to the continuous jostling of the camera, a sound that had served as the backdrop to Armin's own morbid musings. The screen was shuffling between the outline of a face— Jean's, Armin quickly realized— and something hazy and white that seemed to glow in the shadowy frame of the camera.

"Wait, wait," Armin gasped, leaning forward and waving a finger at the screen. "Pause it. Pause it!"

"Yeah. Yeah, okay!" Jean quickly hit the space bar, but he missed the frame, and the video paused at a blur of movement, dark, wet hair and half a white, hollow looking face smeared across the screen. "Gah!"

"Rewind it," Armin gasped, flicking his wrists and turning his face away. "That's so creepy, rewind it!"

"Okay, um…" Jean hit a key twice, and the image rapidly shot backwards, giving them a clearer view of the horrible, beautiful, dizzying ghost. Jean paused it again, and they were finally able to look at her up close.

Her face was still obscenely frightening. The gaunt glow of her face made the video light up, quite literally the only light source available to film. Her eyes were large and hollow, an image that shook Armin to the core, for her dull, shadowy gaze reminded him all too much of Levi. However, unlike Levi her pallid cheeks were full and round, and her lips were curved into a coy smile. In the haze of the screen there was a particular wetness clinging to her skin, and her hair stuck to her neck and her forehead, clinging like long, wriggly leeches to blinding marble flesh.

Jean leaned back, holding a hand to his forehead as he gaped at the screen.

"Holy shit," he croaked.

"You said you saw her," Armin said gently, touching Jean's arm. He wanted to be reassuring, but this… this was truly very frightening. Even by their standards.

"I didn't get a clear look until now!" Jean's voice broke a bit. His fear was gleaming through, the first real crack of terror finally marring Jean's easygoing façade. "Like… shit, she… she was just this  _blur_! But here she really looks real. She's like… a real,  _human_ …" He shuddered and whirled away. "Fuck! Turn it off."

"Sure…" Armin leaned closer to the laptop, his chest falling upon the table as he plucked up the photograph and angled it so it was side-by-side with the paused clip of their female ghost.

It was a total stretch. The girl in the photo was beautiful and clever— she exuded an undeniable confidence in spite of the dullness of her eyes. She seemed to know… exactly how she appeared… and she used that to her advantage. That made her look all the more familiar. The ghost, however, was gaunt and glowy and glistening and gauzy. There was fog flitting over the lens of the camera. How could Armin possibly make the call? Just because they both had dark hair? Just because the ghost happened to be somewhat pretty in spite of looking absolutely horrifying?

"Did you turn it off?" Jean turned his head, and Armin froze as he was caught half lying across the table, pressing the photograph to the laptop screen. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Uh…"

"Get the fuck off the table. Jesus Christ."

Armin slid back into his seat, and Jean snatched the photo from his fingers and held it up to the light. He glanced down at the laptop, and then back at the photo.

"You think the mystery girl is our lady ghost?" he asked, blinking at Armin curiously. Armin managed a meager shrug.

"I think… it's a definite possibility." He drummed his fingers on the table, his thoughts in shambles. How the hell was he going to figure all this out? "It's too much of a coincidence. I just have a feeling."

"Uh huh…" Jean squinted at him. "Your so called "feelings" end up being right more often than not, you know. You're pretty good at guessing."

"I'm pretty lousy at just about everything else, though."

Jean stared at him vacantly, and Armin's stomach lurched in a sudden panic. He didn't want to talk about his depression. Not now, not in this state of mind. Perhaps Armin just didn't want to talk about it ever.

Luckily for him, the front door opened with a soft creak and promptly slammed shut. Mikasa was home. Thank god _. I can't talk to Jean_ , Armin decided.  _I can't even properly function around him_. Keeping the fact that he was a murderer away from Jean was a lot tougher than he'd anticipated. As much as he just wanted it all to spill out, he simultaneously could not come up with a scenario with a happy ending.

"I'm home," she called. Armin wondered who it was directed to. The living or the dead?

"We're in the kitchen," Jean called back.

She appeared in the doorway, and immediately Armin's eyes landing on the box settled beneath her arm. He pointed. "What's that?"

Her dark gaze settled on his face, and she watched him for a minute, a long unnerving stare that could jar most people, but only irritated Armin. Finally she seemed to give in, and she strode up to them with the box held carefully in her hands.

"It's Eren's," she said, setting it on the table.

"What?" Jean perked up considerably. "You stole it from his room?"

"You're wearing Eren's sweatpants so you better not judge me," Mikasa warned him, her eyes flashing dangerously at his face. He gaped at her, flinging his hands up and shaking his head.

"No way," he gasped. "I just… uh… why, I guess?"

"Eren was conducting his own investigation before he died," she said, resting the box on the table. She did not look at either of them, but instead let her eyes linger on her hands. "He never told Armin and I because he didn't want us to get hurt or stressed because we were involved."

"What?" Armin asked sharply. "Seriously?"

"Sounds familiar," Jean said dryly.

Armin sighed. Yeah, he probably deserved that. "We've all kept secrets that we shouldn't have," he said softly. Mikasa did not meet his eye and he did not meet hers. For they both could feel the immense guilt that stretched between them. A dead body lying in the dirt.

"Yes, that's true," Mikasa said. She glanced at the laptop, and she straightened up in alarm. "What is that?"

"Uh…" Jean glanced at the screen, and he smiled sheepishly. "Well when we were at the Jaegers I went to check out their basement— hey, it wasn't my idea, okay? And it's a good thing I did, too, because that open window caused just enough suspicion to rule the crime scene a possible homicide."

Armin handed Mikasa the photograph. "Jean found this," he said, "and was then attacked by a ghost."

"Wow, way to ruin the suspense, Armin," Jean hissed. Armin shrugged. He'd already heard the story— hell, he'd been there when it had happened. He'd heard Jean's terrified screams.

"Why is Dr. Jaeger with Kenny and Rod Reiss?" Mikasa asked sharply, throwing down the photo on the table. She looked angry. Her face had contorted slightly from her rage, and she leaned back, inhaling sharply through her noise. "Don't tell me he was in on it. Don't tell me…"

"In on what?" Jean asked blankly. He stared at her face, and Armin sunk lower into his seat. Uh oh. Jean's eyes darted between them. "What the fuck aren't you guys telling me?"

Mikasa's eyes rolled back into her head, and they landed on Jean's face, her expression turning to stone.

"Do you really want to know, Jean?" she spat.

He looked initially shocked— perhaps even intimidated. But he swallowed down whatever fear Mikasa had awoken within him and stood up straight.

" _Yes_!" he cried exasperatedly. "For the love of god, fucking tell me!"

Armin's eyes darted up to Mikasa's face, large and alarmed. He didn't know what would become of this.

Mikasa looked down at him. Her expression had softened, and he knew what she was asking. Was it okay? Could they tell him?

He sighed. Did they really have any other choice?

"Jean," Armin said quietly. "I killed Eren."

Now there was an unbearable silence. It blanketed them, stifled them, turned the air hot and dry. Jean's face was unchanged. He wore the same irritable, beseeching look, his lips drooping ever so slightly into a frown. The more he looked at Jean, the more the man seemed confused.

Mikasa pinched the bridge of her nose, and she turned away.

Jean's eyes flashed up to her. "Wait," he said vacantly, his gaze falling back to Armin's face. "You're serious?"

Armin slumped, feeling the need to melt away into the ether. He flushed, his entire face burning from shame as he sunk lower and lower and lower into his seat. He didn't like how guilty and shameful this whole confession was. At least with Eren and Mikasa they'd already  _known_. There had been an accusation in every biting word he'd spoken. Now he was just ashamed and afraid.

And unbearably sad.

"Yes, Jean," he murmured, unable to look him in the eye. "I'm serious. I killed Eren."

Jean's mouth dropped open. Armin prepared himself for the worst. The shouting. The disbelieving cries of shock, the snippy little string of accusations. That Armin was just a liar. All he did was lie, so why should this be any different?

But Mikasa stepped in quickly.

"What Armin is intentionally leaving out is that he has trouble remembering that night," she said hastily, planting herself between Armin and Jean as though to somehow shield him. "It was an accident. And in the end, the responsibility doesn't fall on Armin. It falls on me."

Jean closed his mouth promptly. He stood. His face had paled considerably. He pressed his lips together, and he rocked back on his heals.

"Okay…" He drew out the syllable, his eyes rolling up toward the ceiling. "So… uh… what the fuck?"

"You aren't angry?" Armin squeaked. His face was burning, and he bent his head, lowering it so Jean couldn't see his shame.

"Uh…" He continued to pull at his syllables, letting them hang in the air and strike Armin's heated cheeks. "I think that really depends. Because I'm… not really getting it…" Jean sat down across from Armin, and Armin could feel his stare. It made his face burn brighter, sweat clinging to the back of his neck. He buried his face in his hands. "Armin, if this is true… then why the hell were you looking for Eren in the first place?"

"I didn't know," he whispered.

"What?" Jean leaned closer. "Speak up, man! What the fuck were you thinking? What the fuck was all this to you? A game?"

"Jean," Mikasa snapped.

"No, for real!" Jean's voice was piercing, and it struck Armin viciously, one lash, two lashes, three lashes, four— long lines of unrelenting shame stinging bright red upon his bony spine. "I'm here because of Armin, and I need to know right now that you guys weren't just fucking with me the whole time. So fucking explain. Why did you lie about it? Why did you go so far, Armin?"

"I didn't mean to…" He lowered his entire torso, hunched over in an almost bow. His face felt clammy and warm.

"Armin. Armin, look at me right now! You have to  _explain_!"

"I didn't know!" he shouted, lifting his hands so they covered only his eyes and throwing his head back. "I didn't mean to lie, I didn't mean any of it! I didn't know, okay? I didn't mean it. I didn't want it to happen. I didn't know…" Armin shuddered, and he felt bile stirring in his stomach, a wave of nausea hitting him. "I didn't know, I didn't know, I didn't know, I didn't know, I  _swear_!"

"Armin…" Mikasa's slender hand fell upon his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, tearing his hands from his eyes to shove her arms away viciously.

"No!" He jumped to his feet, tears flooding his eyes, shame sending his face aflame, and guilt shaking him to his very core. His knees wobbled and his shoulders quaked and his lips trembled. "I know I lied. I lied and lied and lied and lied, and I'm so sorry for that. I can't take any of it back. But when I started this, when I came here, I really meant everything I said. I wanted to find Eren! I didn't know at all what had happened, I didn't know it was me all along, I didn't know a thing!"

He laughed, listening to his voice snap and break and tremble like a child's, and he laughed because it was so awful, and he was so cruel. Everything he'd done up until this point had been out of ignorance and cruelty, and now he had to deal with the repercussions of his arrogance.

The only truth he'd found was that everyone was a liar.

His laughter rung upon the walls, and his laughter splashed upon the floor, and he flung his head back and let his laughter echo against the ceiling. It smashed back into his face like a fist against his nose.

His laughter broke into a sob, and he wobbled and stumbled into his chair, falling into it as his limbs gave out. He dropped his face into his arms and screamed into the table.

 _I'm going insane_ , he thought, the shattering sound of his own screeching ringing in his ears.  _What the hell is wrong with me? I can't even stop crying. I'm so useless. I'm going to get caught for sure, and then what?_ He screamed some more, the sleeves of his sweater growing wet and clinging to his skin from the onslaught of tears.  _I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so, so, so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so_ …

"Armin."

His head shot up. His screams ended with a shaky exhale, and he swayed in his seat, his wet, splotchy face turned toward the familiar voice.

Eren stood on the other side of the table. For the first time in awhile, his face was dark and his eyes were bright and there was no blood clinging to his pores, no gaping head wound, no dampness to his hair. He stood with his arms folded, and his jaw set.

The tears didn't stop. Seeing Eren had only made it worse. His chest felt like it had been pried open, and all his innards were exposed beneath the jagged edges of his protruding ribcage.

"I'm sorry," he blurted, the words tumbling from his lips and shattering as they fell. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I—!"

"Stop," Eren said quietly. Armin clamped his mouth shut, buckling a bit as the apologies were swallowed hard. "I don't want to hear it. I'm so fucking sick of it. You blaming yourself for all of this only makes me feel  _worse_." His eyes flashed to Jean, but Armin didn't dare look at him. He'd thoroughly embarrassed himself. "Why are you so upset over what he thinks of you? You know you're better than that."

 _No I'm not_ , Armin thought numbly.  _Why would you even think that I am?_

"Well," Eren continued, bowing his head. "Anyway, it doesn't really matter. My death was never your fault to begin with. Even if you pushed me, technically, the burden was never on you."

Armin exhaled. He pressed his hands to his mouth to muffle another sob, and he stared at Eren desperately. It just wasn't fair. None of this was fair.

"Armin," Jean said. Armin jumped, and he shot a fearful glance his way. Jean's expression was solemn but firm. He reached out, and he clapped Armin over the head, causing him to buckle, and that sob he'd been holding to escape softly into the air. "Hey, you know what? I believe you."

Armin's mouth fell open, and he stared up at him. "What…?" he croaked. His voice was weak and trembling.

He shrugged, and he moved around Armin, striding across the kitchen and moving toward the counter. He pushed aside some bread and held up a camcorder. Armin leapt to his feet, wobbling a bit, and Mikasa steadied him.

"Wait," Armin gasped, more tears flooding onto his face. "Oh my god. Jean, wait—!"

"Calm down," Jean snapped. He fiddled with the side of it, and Armin gaped as he removed a little chip from the side of the camera. He walked up to the sink and tossed it into the basin. He looked up at Armin, and he smiled dimly. "Look. Whatever your damage is, you know I'm in. I've been in since the beginning, and I can't tell this story without you." He reached over the sink and flicked a switch.

A deafening screech filled the room, the cacophony of something cracking and snapping and bending in unseemly ways, cringe-worthy noises emitting from the sink as the crunching turned to a soft crackling. Jean flicked the switch again.

"W-what…?" Armin exhaled, leaning heavily against Mikasa's arms. "What was that?"

Jean set the camera aside, and he straightened up.

"That was the memory card," he said, staring at Armin with an astonishingly level gaze. "I think I get it now. You didn't tell me because you were scared that maybe I'd betray you. That the half-baked story of a kid who murdered his best friend was enough for me. But like I said, Armin." He lifted his head very high. "I literally cannot do this without you. So  _please_." His eyes flashed imploringly between their faces. "Please trust me."


	19. Chapter 19

**staying with a friend in rainy weather**

He sat for a few minutes in the dark, just listening to the soft murmur of a voice beyond the door. The floor was dusty and the air was thick and there were whispers at his back, talking some unwavering truths and spitting them into his brain. His heart was heavy. This wasn't the first time this had happened and it wouldn't be the last. How long could they all hold out with this looming threat of suffering hovering over their heads like this?

It would be better if Armin were here. Armin was good at talking. Just talk. Good talk, bad talk, little talk, big talk, Armin could do it all with ease. Eren had trouble figuring out when to use his words and not his fists.

So he wasn't much of a comfort in the end, was he?

So like… why the fuck did Mikasa always call  _him_  at times like these?

He listened to her voice drift beneath the crack in the closet door. She was whispering to someone. Talking to herself. It worried him, if only because he thought about his own piss poor experiences with loneliness and speaking aloud to no one but the ghosts hanging at his back.

He raised himself up, his calves cramping, and he pushed the door open cautiously. Yellow light spilt into his eyes, and her face turned toward him, wan and waxy like the moon on a foggy night. Her eyes were hollow pits in her head, and hair dark hair swarmed her head like knotted feathers. She was sitting on the floor, her back resting against her bed, and shadows swam around her like shifting clouds, overlapping and making odd little shapes as they dances around her body.

When he glanced about the room, he thought he saw the shadows tripping over themselves somewhere along the skirt of the bed, but he couldn't think much about it. He shrugged off his sweater, creeping into the room as quick as he could and skidding onto his knees before her. She stared at him with her dark, pitted gaze. Her lip was cracked open, blood caking her chin.

"Hey," he whispered, throwing the sweater across her pallid shoulders. Her shirt was torn. There was blood blotting its face. "Come on. Up we go."

"I can't leave," she whispered, her words colliding with her fat lip.

"You can too."

"I can not."

He squinted at her face. She stared blankly back. He groaned, throwing his head back and scowling at the ceiling. "You're killing me, Mikasa," he sighed.

"I'm sorry…" She gathered up the fabric of his black zip up in her long, rusty fingers. He stared, his stomach squirming at the sight of so much blood on her hands, and he glanced around the room hastily.

"Is he here?" he whispered.

She shook her head mutely.

"Well thank fuck for that!" Eren leapt to his feet. "Come on, let's go. Up, up."

"Eren…"

"You don't have to tell me what happened, okay?" He looked down at her, at the defeated look in her eyes, and he felt inexplicably furious. "But don't you fucking dare think you can call me over here and then decide you don't want my fucking help. Get up right now."

She exhaled sharply through her nostrils, and she pushed herself up shakily. He caught her by the arms, steadying her on her feet. Her face was pinched a bit, as though she were irritated with him. Well, fine. Let her fucking hate him for all he cared. But he wasn't gonna let dumb fuck Kenny Ackerman break her.

No fucking way.

"Is anything broken?" he asked, peering down at her as she rested her forehead against his chest. She was his height, so her chin was tucked and her hair was tickling his mouth.

She shook her head, and he let out a soft sigh of relief. "Okay," he said, gripping her shoulders. "Come on. Bath time."

"Is that… really necessary?"

"Dr. Jaeger says yes," he stated flatly. She was all bloody, like…? For real? Whenever Eren woke up after a bad trip, possession or whatever, the first thing he did was shower. It didn't really make him feel all that much better, but, y'know, somehow making his body clean washed out his mind a little bit.

"You're not a doctor," she muttered.

"Not yet," he told her. "But one day. You know. I'll be the doctor of something."

"Is that really what you want to do…?" She looked surprised. Why did she look surprised? "I mean, you never talked about it before."

"I don't know," he nudged her forward. "I figure I'll have to get my doctorate in something eventually."

"You should go to school more often," she told him flatly. He paused, glancing at her back as she strode forward, brushing past him and moving toward the door. "At the rate you're going, Eren, you'll be held back."

"My grades are fine," he reasoned.

"Grades don't matter if you never show up," she said sharply, stopping in the doorway to glance back at him. He didn't know what to do. How could he expect her to understand that he didn't mean to miss school, it just… happened? Like sometimes he just woke up, and he didn't think he'd be able to face anyone, so he just didn't? It was better if people didn't see him at his worst, because then they'd think that there was something wrong with him, and that was annoying. He didn't need people worrying after him, like it was bad enough that he had to deal with his parents whispering about his fucking "condition" or whatever when they thought he wasn't listening.

"Listen," he said throwing his arms out and shrugging. "I'm fine. My dad's a doctor, I have excuses to spare. But right now that doesn't matter, okay? What matters is you. So move your ass, Mikasa, before I  _carry_  you."

She rolled her eyes and whirled away into the hall. He hung back, his eyes flickering around the room and his arms falling to his sides.  _I should tell her_ , he thought numbly.  _I should tell her that things are bad. That I'm not really okay. That I just pretend so they don't make a big deal out of it and ignore their problem_ s.

But then they'd be in his shoes, and he didn't want anyone to feel like he felt.

He could hear the straining voices of numerous professionals— therapists and counselors and the occasional nutritionist or neurologist, their words pouring into his head. "It's okay to ask for help, you know. You don't have to go it alone."

But they didn't get it. No one got it.

If he couldn't do it by himself, then who was to say anyone else could bear it? What if it was too much? Way too much. It was way too much for one person or one hundred, so the least he could do was shield them all from it.

So he moved into the hallway and hoped for the best.

He rested his back against the wall beside the bathroom door. She'd left it open, and he could hear the water running. He wondered where Kenny had went, and how long Eren had before he'd need to skedaddle. He was afraid to leave Mikasa behind though. Why couldn't she just see some sense and turn him in already?

"So what do you want to do?" he called to her.

"Huh?"

"After high school." He poked his head into the bathroom just as she was peeling her bloody shirt from her back, discarding it on the tile floor. He watched her muscles move beneath the overlapping scars, and he felt sad. It was a crushing kind of hollowness knowing how useless he was. "You know, the future?"

"I don't know." She glanced at him, keeping her back turned. "I don't know if I even have a future."

"Of course you do," he scoffed, turning so he was leaning in the doorway. "You're one of the smartest kids in school, you're good at every sport you try, you're in tons of extra curriculars— you could get into any school from here to England if you wanted."

"Don't be silly." She turned to face him, and that caught him a little off guard. He found his eyes swiveling toward the floor, then back up at her face. She stared at him expectantly. Then she folded her arms across her chest, covering her breasts, and she sighed. "This is weird now. Isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to pretend Eren," she told him sharply. "We grew up. It's weird for us to do this, for you to sleep in my bed and watch me get dressed."

"I can totally go!" He took a step back, throwing his hands up helplessly. Weird? Was this… weird? He'd never even thought about it. He just thought this was what friends did. That it meant they were all comfortable around each other. Was that wrong? Had he missed something?

"No." She shook her head furiously. "That's not it. I don't want you to go."

"Then I'm confused…" He shuffled his feet sheepishly. "What exactly is it that you want me to do?"

She stared at him. Her eyes were no longer deep pitted hollows, but instead they were bright with something he couldn't quite grasp, so he stood uncertainly and hoped she'd just tell him so he didn't feel like such a fool. He saw her chest rise and fall sharply, her breathing irregular, and she turned away quickly.

"Help me wash my hair?" she asked in a small voice.

He tilted his head. "Sure," he said, lingering in the doorway as she stripped down and climbed into the tub.  _This is weird now. Isn't it?_  Her voice was echoing in his head. He didn't want it to be weird. He wanted it to be normal again. Had they ever been normal?

She sunk into the water and he knelt beside the tub and smiled at her. She was staring at her bloody hands beneath the water, watching the red flake off and make the shifting surface murky and pink. She had so many scars, even on her breasts, and Eren forced himself to stay calm, told himself that his anger could wait until the morning when Mikasa felt better.

"So this is weird?" Eren asked, massaging shampoo into her scalp. She dipped her head back, and she sighed.

"I don't want it to be."

"Then don't say it is."

"It's not that simple."

"Say it is," Eren told her dipping his hands into the water and withdrawing a cupful, pouring it over her head gingerly and repeating. "Say it is and it will be."

She smiled. He was so relieved to see her smile that he lost himself a little, his eyes moving from her face downward. It wasn't like he hadn't seen her naked before, because this wasn't really that uncommon. So he wasn't particularly fazed by the sight of her breasts or her bare abdomen. He'd seen it all before, and Eren was not the type of person to get overly abashed over nudity. It was her arm that caught his attention.

"Hey." He leaned over the tub and squinted at the pink-tinged water. "What's that?"

"What?"

"On your arm." He felt vaguely sickened, his stomach tying up in knots, and he watched her raise her arm gingerly from the water, small waterfalls sucking at her slender wrist. Blood feathered her skin, diluted like watercolor rings. He reached out and took her hand, examining the cut more closely.

"What?" She looked at him confusedly. "You knew I was bleeding, didn't you?"

"This mark…" He didn't look her in the eye. He thought about his own unpleasant experiences with ghosts, and he thought about Levi.  _No way_ , he thought numbly.  _No way he could be haunting her too. Why would he? Mikasa doesn't have any stray body part of his lying around, does she?_

She was staring at him, her dark hair plastered to her long, pale face, and her eyes seemed too large and too dark and too sunken and empty, like two swollen holes inside her colorless face.

"What about it?"

Her voice had gone very flat.

Oh god.

He stared at her, and he felt desperate and angry and he wanted to scream. He should have screamed. There was something terrible here, he could feel it. It was living in his head. Crawling beneath her skin. They were both poisoned, and they always had been, from the very fucking minute they'd met until… when? Until they both drew their last rattling breaths?

He couldn't. He couldn't let that be their fate.

He cared about her too much.

"Nothing," he said flippantly, covering the ugly looking eye with his hand and dipping her arm back into the water. "It's just weird. I think I must've seen it before, at the library or something. Kenny did this?"

"Who else?" she asked, her large black eyes narrowing. He saw the gleam of her eyelids, pink and puffy and glazed with gold and purple, royal bruises ringing her pitted gaze.

He shrugged. "I'm just making sure," he said, frowning a bit. "You don't have to give me that look. I'm just trying to help."

Her expression softened considerably.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. He felt guilty now. What could he do?

"Hey. Listen." He took her wet face in his hands, and he set his jaw. Her wet hair tangled around his fingers like slender little leeches. She stared into his face, her eyebrows rising and rivulets of water slipping against the contours of her nose. " _None_  of this is your fault. I'm not gonna sit here and let yourself think you did something wrong. This is all bullshit." His shoulders tensed with all his pent up rage. "Come home with me, okay? You can't stay here anymore."

"I can't," she whispered.

"That's bullshit!" He held her face firmly as she tried to turn her head away. Avert her eyes. She didn't want to look at him. That made him angrier. "You're strong, Mikasa! You're the strongest person I know, so why don't you just do the smart thing for once and turn him in?"

"No one will listen, Eren, you know that."

"I'll make them listen," he gasped, angry tears welling up in his eyes. "I'll make them all fucking see it! What a monster that bastard is! I'll do it, I swear. You don't deserve this. You can't live like this!"

"I think that's the point, Eren," she murmured.

His heart sunk like a brick, dropping from his chest to his gut at terminal velocity and unraveling before it even hit. He didn't know what to feel. He was all feeling, wasn't he? Everyone told him he felt too much. He got too angry too fast, he got to upset over little things, he was always too outspoken, but he never ever did enough. He didn't feel like he was feeling anything. What the fuck could he do?

Nobody listened to him. He was screaming at nothing all the fucking time, and nobody even had the ear to spare for him.

"Mikasa," he said, his voice small and shaky. He didn't know how he was containing his rage, but he did. "You know I'd do anything for you. Right?"

She stared at him. Then, after a few seconds of confusion, it seemed to hit her. Her eyes widened, and she shook he head furiously.

"Eren," she said firmly, brushing his hands away and sinking further into the water. " _No_."

"He deserves it."

"You don't get to decide who lives and who dies," she snapped at him.

 _But he does?_  Eren thought furiously. "Then do me a fucking favor," he snapped right back. "Stop pretending like you don't have any other fucking options other than to sit here and rot until he fucking kills you. I'm not going to let that happen. You know I won't. If you feel guilty about something I end up doing because you refuse to take a third option, that's not on me!"

"You are not a killer," she told him gently.

"I don't want to be," he replied, gripping the edge of the tub and gritting his teeth. "I don't want to hurt anyone, but I will if I have to. It has to end somewhere, Mikasa. And I won't let it be with your death. Okay? Okay. Good. I'm glad we straightened this out." He sat back against the tile, and she twisted herself around to grab a towel. The scars on her back dipped into the hollows of her spine. He closed his eyes as she stood, water rushing in his ears, and he thought to himself,  _Does somebody really have to die?_

"Thank you, Eren." He listened to her feet clap wetly against the floor. He stood up slowly, cracking open an eye as she hugged a feathery white towel around herself. "None of that is necessary, though."

"Like hell."

She sighed. She brushed past him and moved slowly toward the door. He quickly pulled the plug on the drain, and then followed her obediently.

"Will you stay here?" Mikasa asked. Her voice sounded flat and vacant. Eren leaned against the doorway and turned his eyes away as she dropped her towel.

"If you want me to, yeah."

He heard her laugh. That surprised him. He glanced at her, and she stared back at him with a sad, vacant smile.

"What?" he asked.

"You don't get it."

He rolled his eyes. "Well if you keep it all to yourself, yeah, I'm not gonna understand what you're thinking—"

"Eren," she said quietly. He stared at her expectantly. She'd gotten half dressed, only wearing a ratty tee shirt.

Wait. That was his ratty tee shirt.

Oh man, that was weird.

Something was beginning to click.

"What?"

She sighed. She nodded slowly. And then she took a few careful strides toward him, on the tips of her toes as though on edge because of some primal fear of the darkness around her. He tilted his head at her confusedly as she stopped in front of him. They were the same height.

"You want to know what I'm thinking?" she asked him quietly.

"Yeah." He didn't even think before answering. He probably should have.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in, closing her lips around his. He could taste her blood in his mouth. He couldn't help but go rigid in shock, even if part of him had seen it coming. Because he'd never actually kissed anyone before, because this was not something he'd been anticipating, because he hadn't considered this or anything like it as a possibility. But now it was happening, and it made a lot of sense, and he hated himself for not realizing sooner that this was what she'd wanted from the minute he'd appeared in her room.

How stupid of him. It was so simple! He'd been trying so hard to figure out what it was that Mikasa wanted from him, but it'd been there all along. Something so easy as a kiss?

That wasn't a big deal. He'd give her a thousand kisses if that meant she wouldn't be sad anymore.

He wrapped his arms around her, and that seemed to startle her, because she pulled back and stared at him with a furrowed brow.

"Is this too weird?" he asked her. He wasn't trying to tease her or anything, he really meant it. He didn't know if she was comfortable with any of this. It scared him.

"No," she said cautiously. She turned her eyes from his face, and she sighed. "I know you love Armin."

"Oh." She wasn't jealous of that, was she? "Yeah, I do. But I love you just as much. You know that." He stared at her. She wouldn't look him in the eye. " _Right_?"

"But is it the same…?" She sighed, unwinding her arms from his neck. He refused to let go of her. "Eren, people don't work like that. You can't love two people the exact same way."

"Fucking watch me," he snapped. He kissed her very hard, and he wondered if maybe that'd been a little too harsh, and he felt guilty about it because he loved her so much, and how could she even question it? How could Armin? Why were they both always assuming that they had to sacrifice some of his love for the other?

He didn't want them to feel like they had to compete for his affection. He had plenty of it to go around.

She pulled back, but only to bury her face into his shoulder. He blinked, her wet hair tickling his cheek and the scent of soap stinging his nose. He relaxed a bit, and he hugged her very tight.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into his neck. "I'm so sorry."

"Why the hell are you apologizing?" He sighed. "I love you, okay? I love you, and whatever happens, I'm with you."

"Eren," she whispered, "you know. Don't you?"

He didn't answer. She sighed, her hot breath tickling his neck, and he wondered what she was talking about.

"Tell me what's wrong." He placed a hand on her head, combing her hair carefully with his fingers. "Is it… about Kenny?" He looked past her. Just before him, peering out from beneath the bed, there was a gaunt little face. Eren's eyes narrowed. "Levi?"

She stiffened up in his arms, and he sighed. He nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "I know. He haunts you?"

"Eren." She pulled away from him, her eyes suddenly very hard and very cold. "Eren, you shouldn't… this doesn't involve you. Why the hell do you know about it?"

"I don't know," he said innocently. "You tell me. You seem to know a whole lot more."

"Fucking…" She inhaled sharply, running her hands through the scraggly, damp strands of black hair that framed her face. "Eren!"

"Mikasa!" he shot back in the same tone. "I'm not gonna leave, so you might as well tell me!"

"I can't!"

"Oh, wow, for real?" He rolled his eyes. "What, because he's here?"

"How do you know about any of this?" She hugged her arms tightly, her brow furrowing and her eyes dropping to the floor.

"Um. Research?" He shrugged. "I told you I saw it in the library, right?"

"Okay, you know what?" She whirled away. "Whatever. Whatever it is you're doing, Eren, you need to stop."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Bull."

"I'm not kidding around."

"Neither am I." He felt a little dizzy. In truth, he had no idea what was going on. He hadn't even known that Levi was haunting Mikasa. She didn't seem to show any weird symptoms like Eren. With all the meds and stuff. But he supposed he didn't either. No one even knew he'd had a suicide attempt, except maybe Christa. Did Christa know about Mikasa?  _What else is that girl not telling me?_

"Okay," she said, sitting down on her bed. "I guess it's my turn then." She raised her eyes, and she was suddenly utterly blank. There was no real emotion in her features at all, and that sorta scared him. Just a little. Like even for Mikasa, she was blank as hell. Usually he could pick out the subtleties of her expressions, but this was terrifying. "I know I called you here. I know that you want to protect me. But I think you being near me is putting you in real danger." She sighed. "I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting this. You can leave now."

"What?"

She stared at him vacantly. "Go home," she said in her empty little voice. "I don't want you here anymore."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay," he sneered.

"I'm serious."

"So am I!"

"You can't come here anymore," she told him. "I love you too, Eren. I'll come to your house more, like you wanted. I'll sneak out if that's what you want. But I'll kick you out if you ever come here again."

"Have you lost it?"

She blinked rapidly. She pulled her feet up onto her bed, hugging her bare legs to her chest.

"Maybe," she said distantly.

"Mikasa…" He took a step forward. But the moment he entered the room, a chill shot through him. The little face beneath the bed was no longer there. This was familiar. He stopped, frozen in place and he stared at Mikasa desperately. She buried her face in her knees.

A great weight smashed into Eren's chest, and he was knocked onto his knees. Something collided with his mouth, and he gasped in pain. He saw Mikasa's head shoot up. She jumped to her feet.

"Hey," she snapped. "Wait a minute!"

Eren barely withheld a scream as he was snatched by the ankles and dragged from the room. Mikasa was marching forward just as the door slammed shut. Eren curled up in the hall, clutching his throbbing cheek and listening, half-deaf, as she started screaming profanities at him. No, not Eren. No. She was screaming at someone else.

Levi.

How long had this been going on?

Eren never should have admitted anything. God, what would she have done if she'd known how long Levi had been haunting Eren? What a nightmare.

He stood up, cupping his cheek and glaring at Mikasa's door. He should stay, he knew, and argue some more. But he didn't think that would do anyone any good.

As he left the apartment, his feet colliding with the metal stairs, he lifted the sleeve of his shirt to stare at his forearm. This mark had appeared after a rather recent episode involving Eren waking up in the kitchen with a bloody forearm and a bloody kitchen knife. His mother had been moments from calling the emergency line.

 _I get it_ , he thought, glaring up at the apartment building.  _If somebody really has to die, please. Please, let it be me_.

* * *

The silence stretched thickly between them, sharp and biting like the caress of winter air. Jean's expression pensive as he sat at the kitchen table, his eyes averted and his mouth covered with one hand. Armin was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. He hadn't spoken up once as Mikasa had given a somewhat abridged explanation to the entire situation.

Kenny had killed Levi.

Levi came back as a ghost.

Levi the ghost haunted Eren and Mikasa.

Levi the ghost possessed Eren and tried to kill Mikasa.

Armin had accidentally killed Eren in order to prevent that from happening.

This was all part of some elaborate ritual.

So where does Historia fit in? Armin sniffled, snot clogging his nose as the silence blanketed them, falling like heavy snow upon his head and heart. Weighing like cinder blocks on a fragile skull and delicate ribs. He was like paper now. Everything about him was easily torn, easily crushed, easily broken.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized.

He'd been broken a long time ago.

He'd been walking around with his feelings oozing out of a crack in his skull, and he'd been trying to fill up the hole with muddy lies and everything had gotten all hazy somewhere along the line.

Jean took a breath. It cracked the blanket of silence, a boot colliding with freshly frozen ice. He inhaled sharply through his nose, and his exhale lingered as Mikasa and Armin slump further into their anxiety.

"Well…" Jean spoke into his hand, his words muffled and dull. "Holy shit."

Mikasa and Armin shared a glance. Neither of them were concerned any longer with the idea that Jean might turn them in. If he did, they could accept their fate. But Armin didn't think Jean was going to do anything.

The hooks were in his skin and he couldn't get them out without tearing himself apart.

That was just how it went.

Nobody got out of this unscathed.

"Do you understand why you weren't told about any of this?" Mikasa asked quietly.

"Well, yeah?" Jean leaned back, flattening his hands on the table. "I get it, Armin didn't remember, and you didn't know me enough to trust me. But you do get that you guys totally fucked yourselves over, right?"

"We're dealing," Mikasa told him curtly.

"You're not dealing," Jean replied with a sneer. "Neither of you have actually dealt with the repercussions of what you've done. When the hell did you grieve, huh?"

"I had seven years to grieve Eren," she said.

"Mikasa," Jean said, his eyes narrowing. "What you've been doing isn't grieving. You both just avoided dealing with everything until it all blew up in your face. And now look at the fucking mess we're in."

She stared at him. Her eyes had gone wide, and Armin raised his head. Tears tracks were cold on his warm, flushed cheeks. He could hardly breathe from all the sadness crushing his throat.

He pushed himself shakily to his feet, wobbling and shouldering the wall. Jean looked at him, and Armin met his eye with a fierce glare.

"Don't blame Mikasa for my incompetence," he said softly.

"I wasn't—"

"I don't even know how to grieve," Armin said weakly. He shrugged. His lower eyelid ached from the bruise yellowing against his cheekbone, and when he smiled he felt like his skin was cracking and white paint was flaking off porcelain bones. "But that doesn't matter. Grief is a luxury we can't afford right now."

"Armin," Mikasa whispered, raising her eyes to his. There were swollen purple bags beneath them, and Armin wondered if any of them even slept anymore.

He moved toward her with jerky limbs, and he knelt beside her chair. He took her face in his hands, and he smiled.

"I won't let you die," he said.

She blinked rapidly. Tears filled her eyes, and she shook her head, forcing his hands off.

"You sound like Eren," she mumbled, forcing her tears away and locking them behind a chilly stare. She stood up, and she raised her head high. "Okay. We have to find a way to stop Kenny."

"And Rod Reiss, I guess," Armin said as he straightened up, tapping the photo Jean had found. He stared at the girl in the photo.  _If you're the ghost in Eren's basement_ , he thought to the girl's pretty face,  _how did you die?_

"It sucks the Grisha Jaeger kicked it," Jean sighed, standing as well. "He obviously knew some shit."

"We should ask Eren what he's not telling us," Mikasa said thoughtfully. "If he knew about his father's involvement or not."

"Wait," Jean said flatly. "What?"

"Nice," Armin coughed, turning his face away. His hair was fluffing all around his head, making it very hard to see.

"Eren's a ghost now," Mikasa said. "Did I forget to mention—?"

" _Yeah_!" Jean's voice broke a little. "Yeah, you did!"

"Jean…" Armin picked up the photo. "Can you print that picture of the ghost from the Jaeger house?"

"Sure!" Jean threw his arms up in the air. "Of course! Why not? Let's just compile a list! Levi, Eren, The Drowned Lady, sure!"

"Wait!" Armin looked up at Jean sharply. "Drowned? How do you know she drowned?"

"She was all wet?" Jean stepped back, looking alarmed. "Wait, did I not tell you that?"

"If she drowned," Armin gasped, digging into his pocket and withdrawing his phone, "then her body might have been found!"

"Like Eren's?" Jean mocked, his voice cold and flat.

Armin faltered, his thumb hovering over the call button. He glanced up at Jean.

"Print the picture," he hissed, whirling away as he pressed the phone to his ear. " _Please_."

He headed into the living room, the tone filling his ear and ringing in his swollen head. He wandered into the hall, waiting impatiently with his fingers tangling in the tufts of uneven hair that fell upon his cheeks. He touched the cuts on his neck, and he thought about Levi, about how unreasonable this all was. Why cut his hair and cut his neck and punch him in the face?

What had been the goal there?

Finally Annie picked up.

" _What_?" she asked briskly. She sounded busy.

"Can you check something out for me?"

" _I don't know. Depends_."

"Annie," Armin said, shouldering open his door. He paused, staring vacantly at his floor. It had been awhile since he'd entered his room. Levi's things were strewn about the floor, books open and paper ripped out of notebooks and tapes gutted of their ribbon. He sighed. "Annie, listen, you know what happened to Jean was weird, right?"

" _I'm trying not to think about it_."

"Annie, this isn't the first time something like this has happened." He kicked his door closed, crouching amongst the debris of one miserable life.

A scratched up all bocce ball came rolling out from beneath the bed.

" _What are you talking about_?" Annie sounded very wary. He didn't blame her. He picked up the bocce ball and then considered something.

Child Levi meant Kenny was listening.

This stupid little ball had been a warning the whole fucking time.

A chill shot through him. Annie. Annie knew way more than an outsider had any right to. And she also was a cop. That meant…

She was in a whole lot of danger.

"Sorry," he said quickly, rolling the ball back beneath the bed, "I'm just thinking out loud. How's the investigation going?"

She didn't answer immediately. There had to be some suspicion, because he could hear her breathing, hear her shuffling on the other line, but he didn't know what she was doing or what she was thinking. He couldn't blame her.

" _Lousy_ ," she finally said. " _Without any witnesses, and the only prints on the gun being Dr. Jaeger's, the department is pretty much determined to rule it a suicide and close the case_."

"You can't!" Armin didn't know what to do. That open window had bought them some time, but they needed solid proof that Kenny was the murderer. That someone had broken into the Jaeger home and shot Grisha from inside his son's room.

But how?

" _It's way out of my hands,_ " she said dully. " _Listen. It might be best if you stop all this_."

"What?"

" _You're going to get hurt_ ," she said. " _Or worse. I don't want to be the one to zip up your body bag, or put you in handcuffs, so do me a favor. Quit it_."

Ah. So she was just as scared for him as he was for her. That was good. It was reassuring.

"I can't abandon Eren," he said in a small, lofty voice. He pushed his hair from his face, and he looked around the room. He felt like time was nipping at his heels. It was falling out. Like guts and teeth. He could feel it all pouring out and out and out.

" _Eren's gone_ ," she replied. " _You need to accept that and move on_."

"No." Armin picked up  _The Cult of Walls_ , which had been overturned and stomped on.

" _No_?" She scoffed. " _For real? You're an idiot_."

"Yeah, I am." He flipped to the back of the book, and he bit his lip pensively. "Annie, listen. If you want out, then I'm giving you an out. Tell me right now."

" _An out_?"

"Out."

" _There are no outs, stupid_." She sighed. " _We'll be stuck in this hell until we die_."

 _No_ , he thought fiercely.  _Even after we die we're still playing this same game, doing these same rounds, not knowing how to feel or how to fight our fates_.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But this is for Eren. It's… what he would have wanted."

" _That's a funny thing to say, coming from you_."

"This is for Eren," Armin repeated firmly. "He believed in justice. So whether you help me or not, whether I'm dead or not, I'm going to see this through. I won't let anyone else die for some cruel man's hubris."

Hubris.

Something wasn't adding up.

What was Kenny Ackerman's goal?

 _Historia,_  he thought.  _She's gotta be the answer. She's the only odd one out in this whole equation._

" _Those are pretty words_ ," Annie hissed. " _But you forget. You're not the only one involved in this. So don't do anything stupid. I'll try my best with this case, but I can't do anything if there's no evidence_!"

"Fine." He was angry. He tapped the book's cover, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and he wondered. Find me in blood, in soil so soaked. Okay, Armin knew that. Levi had died in the shed, bled out into the soil. In the waves and palisades… well, there was no ocean near Shiganshina, so it had to be the river. Titan's Maw to be precise, where the crags and the rocks were the highest and the water churned from the waterfall. In the shadow and the light. Fire? That seemed to be the death marked for this cycle.

Mikasa said it had to be an Ackerman.

But that meant…

"Oh," he gasped, jumping to his feet. "Annie, I'll call you back!"

" _Sure_."

He hung up and jumped to his feet. When he whirled around, Levi was standing at his door.

"Fuck!" Armin stepped back, tripping over an old Nirvana shirt and toppling onto his butt, his limbs flailing a bit. "Ah! You scared me!"

"Good." He stood up straight, a man with tired eyes and unkempt hair. If he'd been a child a few minutes ago, Kenny must've lost interest in whatever Armin was saying. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Levi," Armin gasped, pushing himself to his knees and blinking rapidly. "Listen, what would happen to you if Kenny died?"

He looked a little alarmed, and that made Armin feel satisfied. He glanced away, his narrow eyes flickering behind closed lids. Then he looked down at Armin sharply.

"You couldn't kill him if you tried, brat," he said.

"Oh, no," Armin laughed, slumping a little. "No way, I'm too scared and weak to murder someone on purpose. But…" He smiled at the book in his hands. He snapped it shut. "You, on the other hand, could definitely do it."

Levi's eyes flashed. His body stuttered like Eren's did when he was excited or angry, and suddenly Levi was kneeling before him, his eyes large and moving rapidly, searching Armin's face for a lie.

"What did you figure out?" he whispered, blood dribbling from a cut that had materialized on his forehead. Sliding out of the corner of his lips. Armin could smell the death on him.

"I'll tell you," he said brightly. "But only after I get rid of that awful bond you've got with Kenny."

Levi blinked. "You think you can do that?" He leaned back. "You're fucking crazy."

"No." Armin shook his head. "No, I'm not, I'm being practical. You're the best asset we have. You know the most about what's going on, right?"

The muscle in Levi's jaw jumped.

"He's controlling you somehow…" Armin knocked on his head gently with his knuckles. "Think, think…"

"I can't tell you," Levi said very quietly, his eyes growing dim. "But… if you're willing to risk your ass for it… I can show you."

Armin stared into Levi's bloody face, and he tilted his head. "I'll do it," he said. "Whatever it takes, I'll do it. Because as long as you're being controlled by Kenny, you can't kill him."

"No." Levi flickered, and he was standing amongst the overturned boxes, looking a little sad and a little drunk on that sadness. "I've tried."

"I bet you have." Armin jumped to his feet. "We'll do it tonight, whatever it is. Don't worry. I'll write down everything I know, in case I do die. So you can still have your murder, and Eren can still have his justice, and Mikasa can still have her life, and I…" He turned away, feeling nauseous and giddy on fear. "I can still have my peace."

* * *

He stopped in the kitchen before leaving that night. His flashlight flickered over the collage of newspaper clippings lining the walls. Photographs and sticky notes and passages from  _The Cult of Walls_. They'd worked on that for the better half of the night before they'd all retired to their rooms. Armin had gone on to writing down his plan in one of Levi's old notebooks. He set the beside Eren's unopened box. Apparently you needed a key for it. Mikasa hadn't realized it when she'd taken it.

So now he was leaving in the middle of the night again. Willingly, this time. He didn't know if he'd come back. He didn't even know what he was doing. It didn't matter.

They needed to get Levi out of Kenny's clutches. After that…

Well, Armin was pretty positive this would work. There was no need to worry about the long term.

Armin didn't really expect or intend to die tonight. But life was short and strange. He couldn't help but feel like he needed to be prepared for the worst.

And because of that, he couldn't help but expect Eren to appear. To try and talk him out of this. To steal the air from Armin's lungs and freeze the tip of his tongue so he struggled to speak. And Eren would glare, and spit at Armin for being so fucking stupid, and then he'd try to talk him out of it like the good friend he'd always been. It made Armin sick to his stomach knowing just how fragile his world was, how delicate his life was as it hung in a paper-thin cocoon and ached to snap.

But Eren did not appear.

The silence drew out before him, poking holes in the screen he'd tossed across his mind to keep himself somewhat sane. It was all rattling now. His breath, his life, his very existence.

The light shuddered at the wall of murder and lies, wobbling along Eren's face and shattering amongst the deadly words. When Armin tried to steady his hand, he found he couldn't. He was too scared.

He didn't want to die.

He didn't want to consider dying.

He set the flashlight down on the table, flipped the notebook open and leafed frantically through the pages until he found the note he'd left.

He tore it out and crumpled it up.

 _I'm done pretending like my life doesn't matter_ , he thought furiously, tossing the paper into the garbage bin.  _I want to live. I'm going to live. No more lying to myself_.

No more lying.

"Are you ready?"

Armin turned slowly, and his vision adjusted uncertainly to the looming shadow that shifted through the flashlight's cylindrical yellow glow. Levi's eyes flashed white in the darkness, and his pallid face stood out starkly against the murder wall. A picture of his younger self hung over his head, a sad reminder of the life he'd never fully led.

"Yeah," Armin said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. It was heavy and water resistant, dark hues sagging against his buckling bones. He was scared to death, and his heart was stuttering as he moved forward, Levi's cold eyes following his every jerk and shudder.

Where did the lies end and where did they begin?

No more lying?

Was that even a possibility at this point?

They left the house, and Armin realized he could be very wrong. He didn't know the details of the ritual, let alone what the ritual was even for. He didn't know what would happen if it wasn't completed.

But right now he didn't care.

"Does your eye hurt?"

Armin jumped. He'd been walking in the darkness for about ten minutes. He didn't know where he was going. His brain had turned off and his body simply moved. Like it was being dragged on strings, his joints snapping with every flick of some masterful puppeteer's wrist.

Levi was right beside him. He'd been there the whole time.

It was hard to tell now. He couldn't be sure what decisions were his own anymore.

He touched the aching, yellowing bruise that mottled his cheekbone. His fingertips brushed it gingerly.

"Um," he said, listening to his own pitiful voice crack against the cold night air. "Well… it hurt a lot worse this morning."

Levi glanced at him. His eyes flashed dangerously. "That's not an answer."

"It's a bruise," Armin whispered, hunching a bit as he watched his feet scrape against the sidewalk. Streetlamps lit his way and the wind sang soft songs around him, quiet chants, melodious whispers. He felt nauseous from the paranoia, like something was crawling around in the shadows. Crawling around beneath his skin. Snaking around in his belly.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Yeah." Armin hugged his arms, and he nodded.

"No," Levi said sharply. "I'm serious. I didn't want Eren to die."

"I know that."

"Do you?" Levi's eyes narrowed, and the glare was oddly resigned. As though Levi felt he'd been defeated somehow. "Listen, I said some shit that night I shouldn't have said."

"That's okay." Armin shrugged. "You're forgiven."

"It's…" Levi sighed. "Kid… it's not that simple…"

"It is to me." Armin looked at him, and he took a deep breath. "Levi, I forgive you. For scaring me, possessing me, for beating me up last night, for trying to drown me. For luring me into the woods. I forgive you for all of it. So please stop blaming yourself."

"I don't blame myself."

"Okay." Armin nodded, turning his eyes away from Levi's sunken, pallid face. He looked awful, like someone had starved him of sunlight for a decade before suffocating him with a pillow. "That's good. Good to hear, I mean."

"You're fucking weird."

It wasn't really something Armin could deny. He bowed his head, and his body jerked a little at the sensation of cool water hitting the nape of his neck. He wiped at it carefully, his fingers coming back glistening beneath the dim yellow haze. He looked up at the sky, and from the swirling, smoky bruise of the late night storm half a dozen beads turned to elongated wires connecting his eyes to the heavens. Water hit his eye, exploding across his vision and making the smoky sky bleed into the ugly yellow streetlamp haze.

In the back of his mind he was reminded of a night not so different, lured away from home by vague promises and undying curiosity.

"If this works," Armin said softly, "what will you do?"

Levi did not respond. When Armin looked at him, he noted that he was actually shorter than him by quite a bit. Broad shouldered and long-faced, emptied of all emotion and hope. Armin supposed he'd look perpetually miserable too if his life had been so mentally straining. But Armin had to remind himself, stepping without thought and without feeling, that this man was dead.

What future did ghosts even have, really?

"If this works," Levi replied tersely, "I don't know what'll happen to me."

"What do you mean?" Armin tilted his head, his hair curling beneath his eyes from the humidity. Everything was misty and yellow, and he felt like he was in a dream.

"I only exist now because of that ritual." Levi gave a shrug. "Take that away, and I don't know. I don't know what's going to happen to me and Eren."

"And what about that girl?" Armin hadn't broached the topic because he'd been a little nervous. He didn't know when Levi couldn't answer, and when he simply chose not to.

"What girl?" Levi glanced at him sharply, his lip curling in aggravation. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"The girl!" Armin waved his hands, a hopeless gesticulation that went around and around thrice. "You know, the ghost girl! She attacked Jean today. At the Jaeger's house."

"I don't know any girl," Levi said vacantly.

"But…" Armin blinked. "She has to be part of the ritual, right?"

"I'd know if she was." Levi's brow pinched. He looked puzzled. "I think I'd know."

"That's really encouraging."

"Shut the fuck up, kid."

"We're the same age," Armin pointed out. "You died young, remember?"

"How could I fucking forget?"

 _I don't know, Levi_ , he thought, closing his eyes and feeling the rain spit at his cheeks.  _How could you possibly forget anything?_

Those words were too cruel to speak aloud.

He stopped suddenly, his feet skidding and sloshing against a puddle, and he felt Levi's arm smack against his chest. When he opened his eyes, he was staring up at a house. It was a great, blocky fortress in the misty darkness. A rusty iron fence and dead weeds where a grassy yard should have been. Armin's eyes widened. There was a distinctly ominous sensation falling upon his shoulders and head, like cobwebs dancing in his eyelashes and dust blanketing his hair like snow.

Levi's stare was cold and hard. He scoffed.

"If you're scared," he hissed, thumping Armin's chest with his fist, "go home."

"Of course I'm scared," Armin whispered. He turned his face away, and he touched a wet metal spire of the fence. His fingers dragged against a splotch of rust. "I'd hardly be human if I wasn't terrified of death."

"If he wakes up," Levi said, grasping Armin by the front of his shirt and forcing him to look him in the face, "I want you to run like hell. Don't worry about getting them, okay? I can't help you if he's controlling me."

"But what am I looking for?" Armin croaked. Rain pattered softly against the road and the sidewalk and the weedy front yard drank up every drop of water, mist, and fear that filled the air.

"You'll know."

He disappeared suddenly, leaving nothing but the overwhelming sound of rain crashing to the earth. Armin wobbled a little bit as he gripped the fence, the slick metal biting into his palm. He tried to open it, but it gave a shuddering little screech of protest, and his heart dropped into his stomach out of pure fear. So he wiped his hand off hastily on his jeans, and he tested his footing on the wet metal bar. His sneakers slid precariously, squelching as water coagulated beneath his palms. It wasn't a tall fence, and he managed to toss himself over it, stumbling a bit on the landing and taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. When he looked at his hands, the rust had stained jagged red lines across his palms. Rainwater gathered in the creases of his skin, and the rust began to bleed away.

He stood with his hands held aloft slightly, an offering to the smoky sky and the misty air for some sort of absolution.

He wished Eren would come and tell him not to do this.

But Eren did not come, and Armin's sneakers scraped against the concrete steps of Kenny Ackerman's house. Armin had never been here before. He'd honestly figured Kenny lived outside Shiganshina now, or in some creepy, run down house in the woods. This house was just… a normal house, when one got past the rusty fence and unkempt yard. The pitter patter of ran became exceedingly more prominent as he ducked beneath an awning. The fabric above him was being weighed by rapid, watery gunfire.

When he tested the doorknob, he was sickened and exhilarated to find it unlocked.

 _Well_ , he thought, pulling the door open tentatively _. Living was nice while it lasted._

He entered a dark hall, warm air kissing his cheeks after such a long trek outside in the rain. His feet sunk into his damp sneakers as he walked, rubber soles squeaking softly against the wooden floor.

His stomach was clenched up in his mind was frozen over and everything around him seemed to be ready to jump him at any given moment, any given breath being his last, any given step being the one to trigger a trap. He was suddenly more aware of his own beating heart than he'd ever been in his entire life, even given how many fucking times he'd been thrown into dark holes and dark forests alone in the dead of night.

This slow, unsteady walk of his was the walk of a skinny Roman boy who'd been given a blunt knife and a dented shield, and declared a gladiator as he'd been tossed into the lion pit.

There were no pictures on the walls. It was so dark and quiet, and the air had a musk to it, a heavy scent like mothballs and aging books. It reminded him of the bottom of the trunk in Historia's shop, the one with the clothes he'd flung around carelessly. He thought about her, and a new knot appeared inside his stomach, because he was so scared. For himself, for the ghosts, and for Historia. Where had she gone?

The dark hall opened up rather suddenly, light bursting upon Armin's eyes and he clamped his hands over his mouth to keep himself from gasping or breathing too loudly.

Kenny Ackerman was slumped in a reclining chair. A bottle of whiskey drooped in his left hand, the last dregs of it gathering in the corner of the glass that brushed the carpet of the living room.

What was Armin looking for?

What was he risking his ass for?

This was a bad idea, this was a bad idea, this was his worst idea yet!

He wanted to turn around and run for his fucking life.

Of course he didn't. How could he? He'd come this far.

 _You'll know_ , Levi had said. Know what? Was it a book, like  _The Cult of Walls_? A weird artifact of past rituals? Come on.  _Think, think, think!_

He crept across the living room as quickly as he could, his eyes flashing toward Kenny to be certain he wasn't stirring. Then he found himself in a kitchen. He kept his hands firmly over his mouth, too scared to breath, too scared to grab a knife. He did, however, think of something.

Kenny would probably keep whatever this thing was close.

 _Fuck_ , Armin thought in numb terror.  _Fuck, fuck, fuck. How am I going to get close enough to check?_

He lowered his hands and took a deep breath. Okay. He could put a knife on him. Yeah, he could do that. But… Kenny was really fast. And strong. And Armin… really wasn't either of those things. Okay. No to that plan. Maybe if Armin came back in the day time? With witnesses? He tried to think back, if he'd ever seen Kenny wear any kind of weird talisman or anything. If he did, he kept it tucked into his shirt, that was for sure.

There were keys hanging on a hook beside a door, and a stairwell that went directly up. There was a door under the stairs, which could be either a cupboard or a basement. He didn't want to risk his luck with either.

Maybe it was upstairs…?

He moved cautiously toward the stairwell, and he thought about the knife. The one he'd stolen. The one that had killed Levi.

Could it… could it be something like that…?

Something overhead collided with the floor with an earth shaking  _thump_.

For a moment, he thought his heart had stopped.

Every bone in his body was suddenly unmovable, and every joint was locked. He couldn't breathe.

He heard Kenny jolt awake from the other room. The bottle dropped against the carpet and Kenny swore very loudly.

Armin had to make a decision.

Either way Kenny would hear him.

He turned his head toward the ceiling. He could find out what that noise had been. He could save Mikasa, free Levi, kill Kenny. He could do it all.

Or he could die trying.

And Armin didn't want to die just yet.

He pushed off the stairs, his sneakers squeaking against the floor as he slid across the tile and bolted toward the door. He yanked the keys off the hook and threw the door open, stumbling blindly into a dark room. It was cold in here. The light from the kitchen illuminated the empty space, and he realized he was staring at a pick up truck.

A garage.

Perfect!

He slammed to door shut, fumbling along the wall for a light. The garage door opened instead, and he took that as a sign to just fucking go. So he threw himself at the general direction of the truck, feeling along the door and catching the handle, listening to the heavy sound of footsteps and swearing from somewhere behind him. He ripped the door open, climbing into the truck as fast as he could and yanking it shut, promptly locking the doors. He fumbled with the keys, his shaky breath and shaky hands falling into a rhythm as his heartbeat rattled inside his chest like a bass drum.

The key slid into the ignition. He exhaled in relief, and he turned it sharply. The engine revved.

And the kitchen door flew open.

Armin locked eyes with Kenny Ackerman for about half a second before his hand found the gear shift, and his foot slammed on the gas pedal.

He was flung forward and then slammed backwards as the truck accelerated sharply back, and his sweaty hands jerked the wheel a sharp turn as he reversed.

While he was shifting gears again, he heard something collide with the bed of the truck.

"No way," he whispered, his eyes flashing to the rearview mirror.

Kenny had jumped into the back of the truck.

"Oh my god," Armin exhaled, his knuckles turning white against the wheel. He was speeding down a wet road, rain crashing onto his windshield, and he didn't know what to do. So he sped up. He heard the main fumble. He slipped on the wet metal, and Armin knew he was getting knocked around. So he jerked the wheel again. And Again.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, kid!"

"Yeah, yeah…" Armin gritted his teeth. He could hear other stuff knocking around back there too. Maybe if Armin could throw him, and he knocked his head on something, then that'd be fine, right? All their problems would be solved.

But Armin didn't know how he was going to do that effectively.

He turned on the windshield wipers. He found himself skirting the forest, on a road that lead toward the river.

Behind him a fist was rapping on the back window.

"Stop the truck right now," Kenny called, his fist rattling against the glass, "and I'll consider only breaking  _some_  of your bones!"

Armin chewed on the inside of his cheek. He had a lot to consider. And zero time to consider it. He watched the road in front of him, sheets of rain misting across the black, glistening road, and he swallowed hard. He pulled at his seatbelt and buckled it firmly.

Then, without another thought on the matter, he jerked the wheel to the left and floored the pedal until his stomach lurched and left his body, the truck lifting off the ground momentarily as it took the slight incline into the river.


	20. Chapter 20

**the man who competes with the devil**

It was becoming abundantly clear that this party would never actually end.

Eren had been sitting for hours, swinging his legs idly because his feet did not reach the ground. He was twirling the knife he'd received at dinner, the point resting against the tabletop and spinning beneath his fingers. His mother had yelled at him and snatched the knife away a little while ago, but he'd stolen it back out of boredom.

Were all grown up parties this dull?

He'd loosened his tie so it wasn't choking him any longer, but the suit he was wearing was still really stuffy, and he was sweating beneath the heavy coat. It was summer, and the party was outdoors in some grassy courtyard where fairy lights were strung from parapet to parapet. Adults wore fancy gowns and drank bubbly gold liquid from skinny, tube-like glasses, and Eren just wanted to run around and roll in the grass.

His father had went somewhere, Eren didn't know where, and his mother was chatting amiably with some other adults, so Eren was just stuck wanting to scream from his restlessness.

It was understandable that he'd jump at the chance to talk to anyone who looked about his own age.

A girl had appeared in the crowd, tiny and timid, looking rather frightened as she ducked between adults and hurried through the grass. She was wearing a sleeveless white dress, shapeless around her flat chest and then suddenly billowy as it flared out from her tiny frame. Eren watched her curiously, leaning on the edge of his seat. He was anxiously waiting for the right moment to jump up.

His time came when he saw her trip over her own feet and fall flat into the grass. He stood up and ran as fast as he could, shoving past the adults who began to swarm her, and he took her by the skinny arm. She'd already begun the process of pushing herself upright, so it wasn't difficult.

She pushed hair pale hair from her face, blinking rapidly, and then freezing upon the realization that there were so many people staring at her.

Eren was surprised she wasn't crying. There was a trickle of blood sliding from one of her nostrils.

The adults were all murmuring, which was really annoying. Eren held the girl's shoulders as they started to tremble, and he glanced around fiercely.

"Can you  _move_?" he snapped, baring his teeth so they could tell how ready he was to kick them all in the shins. His voice was tiny and thin, elevating a few pitches, which made him flush angrily.

"Honey," someone said gently, "we should probably find your parents—"

"Piss off," Eren said vacantly, dragging the girl upright by her underarms and shouldering through the crowd, dragging her with him.

She stumbled against him as he rushed from the courtyard, gritting his teeth as she refused to carry her own weight. When he reached the canopy of the courtyard where no one inhabited, he tossed her against a wall. Her spine bumped into it a little roughly, and she grappled with a stone beam, pulling herself upright and keeping her eyes low.

Eren considered her for a moment, blood dripping profusely from her nose and into her gaping mouth, grass stains marring her pretty white dress, and he shuffled his feet guilty.

"Sorry," he mumbled hesitantly. "You okay?"

She didn't answer. She merely kept gaping at him.

He rolled his eyes. And then he rolled his shoulders. "Well," he said. "Anyway. My name is Eren. My dad is here because of some weird work thing. I don't really know, you know? I just want to go home, really, like this party is so boring and there's not even fun music like at weddings, it's so slow and annoying."

She continued to gape. Blood was glistening on her teeth.

Since she wasn't speaking, he just went on, shrugging off his suit coat as he went.

"And my mom, she's off somewhere being all nice and uh. I don't remember the word my dad used, I think it was like sociologiable, but he's a doctor so frankly I don't think half the words he says exist. I asked him if I could just stay with Armin for the night— oh, Armin's my friend, by the way. But Armin's sick with the flu, or something like that, and you know, I'd totally rather get the flu than be here. Wouldn't you?"

He offered out his suit coat, and her eyes widened. Her mouth snapped closed. She reached out with shaky hands, and she grasped the coat gingerly.

"Are you being all quiet because of your nose?" Eren unbuttoned his sleeves, rolling them up hastily to his elbows to let the air circulate beneath his shirt. The girl blinked, pulling the coat to her chest and staring at it vacantly. "Don't put it on, dummy, holy crap, it's like. It's so hot. Don't smother yourself!" He marched up to her, snatching a sleeve of the coat and pressing it to her mouth to mop up some of the blood. "Keep this here, okay? You have to stop the blood."

Her hand took over his in staunching the blood flow, and he looked around the darkened little corridor curiously.

"Let's find a bathroom," he suggested.

She pointed mutely to the left, and Eren strolled in that direction, stopping only to glance back at her expectantly. "Hey, come on. Let's go!" And without any objection, she began to follow him obediently.

"Which way?" Eren asked. She pointed straight through a closed door. Eren used a great deal of strength to pry it open. It was a really heavy door, okay?

The hallway they entered was really long and dark, and Eren paused, feeling a little apprehensive. He didn't know where he was going, and he was still young enough that fear of the dark was still a very real threat. The girl clung to the back of his shirt, and he glanced down at her. She seemed to be relying on him to lead her. That made him uncomfortable. He liked helping people, but he sure as hell didn't want people to rely solely on him and not be able to help themselves.

"You seem to know where you're going," he said, nudging her forward. "You lead the way."

She stumbled a little, shooting him a frantic look. Then, she seemed to grow angry, and she huffed, raising her head high and marching down the corridor. Eren followed with his arms folded across his chest.

They found themselves wandering about the halls of a massive estate, and Eren spotted some old paintings of a bunch of old white dudes, and he found himself frowning. "Where are we?" he asked confusedly. "Like, holy shit, this person must be rich."

"Don't you know anything?" The girl's voice was muffled from the blood and the fabric of the coat, but her voice bit at him anyway. He was fucking offended.

"That painting up there," Eren snapped at her, jerking his forefinger at one of the old wizened guys frowning grumpily at them from his gilded frame, "is of the lord who put Shiganshina on the path to a witch hunt in the seventeenth century."

She looked at him with shock glowing in her big blue eyes. He felt satisfied, but even so, he continued.

"I forget his name," he said, untying his tie and fiddling with it idly, "but I know Shiganshina was part of his lands, and when rumors of witches started reaching the nobles, this guy was like, hold the hell up. No witchery in my goddamn house. So he was literally like, well, just grab the women who started that shit and kill them."

"Where… did you hear that…?"

"Uh…" Eren thought about it. "Huh. I don't really remember. Not school, but… I think maybe I read it somewhere."

"I didn't know that," she said, lifting his coat and bearing the ugly red smear of her lips to him.

"Do you know anything?" he asked her snidely, brushing past her and striding down the hall.

"You're not very nice," she mumbled, stumbling to keep up with him. He didn't know where he was going, but he didn't really care. The paintings were cool. "Honestly… you haven't got a single gentlemanly thing about you."

"Why the heck would I wanna be a gentleman?" he scoffed. "Look, it's 1999, and if I wanna be rude, I can be rude all I want!"

"Frieda would hate you," the girl said coolly.

"Who's that?"

"My sister." She turned her eyes up toward the ceiling. "She was supposed to be here… I only really came because she wanted me to, but now she's not here, and I don't know what to do."

Eren felt a little guilty. He pressed his lips together, scuffing his heels against the tile awkwardly. They were walking side by side now instead of one trailing behind the other.

"What's your name?"

She looked down. She pressed the soiled suit coat to her mouth, and Eren groaned. "What? What is it?" He nudged her so hard it was almost a shove. "Why are you so weird? Like, are you scared of me or something? Yeesh, okay, well I'll tell you my life story, then!" He lifted his head high. "My name is Eren Jaeger, I come from Shiganshina, like, this little country town near Trost, it's a total bore, nothing ever happens there, but it's got a nice forest and stuff, which cities don't got, so, yeah, I like that. My dad's a doctor, like I said before, and my mom doesn't really work, not really. I have one friend, and his name is Armin, and he's like a total genius, he just doesn't like to admit it, and he's really shy and quiet and weird, a little like you, I guess, but nicer, and my dad always yells at me because I only have one friend, but when you've got a friend like Armin I don't see why you really need anymore than that."

She stared at him vacantly.

He stared back, daring her to mock him.

"You've got one friend more than I have," she mumbled, slumping a little.

Eren suddenly felt a crushing wave of pity for this tiny girl.

"Do you want me to be your friend?" he asked.

"Um… not… really…" She glanced away from him. "You're not very nice."

"I'm only nice to people who are nice to me!" he huffed.

"I haven't done anything to you."

"Okay, well, I'm definitely your friend now, so deal with it."

"Fine."

"Fine!"

She was covering her mouth, so he couldn't tell if she was smiling or not.

They settled into an uncomfortable silence. He listened to her rattling breaths, his feet scuffing against the tile, and the ring of the darkness, a quiet murmur to fill in the empty space.

"So seriously," he said. His voice echoed on the tall walls. "Where are we?"

She glanced around, her face shadowy in the dim light. "The house of kings," she said softly.

"Bullshit," he said. "The monarchy crumbled like a hundred years ago."

"I guess that's true."

"It's true."

"Okay." She shrugged. "That's just what it is."

"Whatever. Are we getting close to the bathroom?"

"You're acting like you're the one with a nose bleed."

"Listen. You're bleeding into my coat. I'm just a little worried, kay?" She pulled it from her face and offered it back to him. He threw up his hands and wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Ew! No I don't want it back now that your blood and snot is all over it!"

"Baby." She pushed it back against her mouth, burrowing her face in it. Maybe she was smothering a smile. She seemed happier than she'd been earlier.

"Can you tell me your name now?"

She shook her head. And then she paused, perking her head up. "Did you hear that?" she whispered.

"Uh, no?"

"Shh…" She blinked rapidly, tilting her head up and turning her face away. They stood in the empty corridor, darkness yawning on either side of them. And then her eyes widened. There was the distinct sound of a muffled voice close by, a sound that captured the entire hall and shook in their ears. "That's… that's Frieda…!"

"Your sister?"

She nodded furiously, and she drifted across the hall, white ruffles floating in her wake. She was stepping as though in a daze, and she swayed uneasily into a yawning entrance. Eren stared at her, turning around and glancing about the empty corridor. There was nothing there but shadows slithering at their feet, and that was vaguely terrifying.

He moved so he was at her back. He didn't want her heading into any hallways alone. And also, he didn't want to be left in any hallways alone. The voice was louder here. One voice turned into several. Eren chewed on the inside of his cheek. This was really creepy. Fear was clawing on the inside of his chest, eating up his innards and leaving him hollow and shaky.

They wandered into the adjacent corridor, Eren holding her by the elbow and feeling along the walls to help them through the darkness while she merely wandered forward without a care.

"Wait…" the girl whispered, coming to a stop. Eren bumped into her and grunted softly. "I know where she is. Come on." She yanked him hurriedly down the hall, past a door where light was clearly gleaming through a crack, and up a flight of stairs. She continued to pull him into the darkness until she reached a stain glass window burrowed in a small nook in a wall. She grabbed Eren by the loose tie and yanked him toward it. She maneuvered herself into the nook somehow, and Eren followed the suit, climbing up and settling his back against the wall. The glass was sending shifting gradients of color along his face and hers, bright blues and reds shifting dizzily against their skin. He glanced at the window, and noted its design.

It was a great big eye.

Yeah. Like that wasn't creepy at all.

"What now?" Eren asked. She shushed him. Then she reached out very slowly, and she pressed upon the iris of the giant eyeball with the tips of her fingers. It moved slowly, making the barest of sounds as it turned perpendicular to where it had once been. The eye was split in half, and now there were two semi-circles of empty space where someone could peep into. Eren gaped. He met her eye, and she shrugged.

They both peered into the holes, and enjoyed the overview of an office.

The first person Eren spotted was his father. His eyes widened in shock. His dad was lounging on a couch, a glass of wine in his fist as he glanced over his spectacles at some documents. Across from him was a man, sallow faced and hollow cheeked, twirling a knife against a table not unlike what Eren had been doing before he'd spotted the girl beside him. Then there was a portly man whose voice carried sharply, pronounced and deliberate.

"You cannot make these decisions on your own, Frieda!"

And then there was Frieda. She was tall and willowy, her face resembling that of the girl beside Eren, but the rest of her being foreign. She had dark hair that fell smoothly at her shoulders and she wore a thin pink dress that was simple and boring compared to her sister's ruffles and satin.

She leaned against the massive oaken door, and she shrugged her bare shoulders.

"Yeah?" She smiled vacantly. "Says who? You?"

"Mind your manners."

"I am." She kicked off the door. "I've done everything you've asked, father. You know I have, but I'm tired of this. Stop pretending like I'm not even part of this. This is my decision, because it's all about me!"

The hollow man whistled. "That's some nice ego you've got there, honey," he remarked.

"Did I ask for your approval, Kenny?" Frieda asked sharply. "No? Then mind your tongue. Your only purpose here is to do away with the sacrifices."

"Sacrifices," Eren's father repeated, a certain hesitance to his tone. "From what I've gathered… you mean humans, don't you?"

"Power comes at a price, Grisha," the portly man said steadily. "You know that as well as I do."

"This doesn't seem logical." Grisha lifted his glassed to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I'm not sure if I'm following."

"You've been aiding and abetting us for years," Kenny said vacantly. "Like, come on. You and your black market dealings are how I've placated my son for so long."

"I don't want to know about that." Grisha set his glass down and pushed the documents, a fat book included, aside. "I don't want to know about any of it."

"Then why come?" Frieda asked curiously. "You know you have to abide by certain rules to be part of this. Knowing too much isn't a good thing, and you're a smart man."

"I supposed any man is morbidly curious about where his efforts lead when they fall into the hands of others." He took a deep breath. "I did not want this."

"You brought this to our attention, Grisha."

"I did not want a butcher. I simply… I thought it was interesting. The history of it, the… the magic, I suppose. I didn't think anyone would take it this far."

"That was your mistake," Frieda said quietly. She sounded grave. Tired. Then, she lifted her head and smiled brightly. "You don't have to worry, Dr. Jaeger. You'll be safe so long as you don't say anything."

"And if I do…?"

She continued to smile. Eren's teeth were grinding against each other. What did any of this mean?

"Just sign the papers, Dr. Jaeger."

She set a small packet of papers before him, and she clicked a pen. Eren watched as his father took it tentatively. She watched him as he read over the documents.

"When will this be taking place?" Dr. Jaeger asked.

"The less you know the better," the portly man said.

And Eren's father said no more.

"I'd very much like to go to Shiganshina," Frieda said, humming idly and folding her arms behind her back. "I heard it's very beautiful there."

"Yeah, you'll be disappointed." Kenny sniffed. "It's just soil and trees. Nothing really exciting."

"Oh no?" Frieda's mouth parted sadly. Her eyes were glinting. "I heard there's a beautiful waterfall there."

"It's not that nice."

"Well," Frieda said with a huff. "I want to go there. Father, can I take Historia there? This weekend perhaps?"

"No."

"No?" Frieda's eyes flashed angrily toward her father's face. "I'm sorry, have I missed something? Am I not an adult?"

"Do what you please, Frieda," her father said darkly. "But you are not to go near that girl any longer. Are we clear?"

"Not particularly." Frieda laced her fingers behind her back, and she smiled venomously. "I'll take her if I want."

"Your behavior is teetering on rebellious, Frieda," her father told her sharply. "I'd learn to hold my tongue if I were you."

Eren glanced at the girl beside him, deciding that her name was Historia. She was utterly frozen. Perhaps in fear, perhaps in shock.

"I only want to spend some time with my little sister," Frieda said innocently. "Is that a crime?"

"I've decided to send her to live with her mother. She's become a disadvantage, from a political standpoint, and it'd be best for her if she got away from those who might attack her for her… natural birth."

"Nobody calls illegitimacy that anymore, dad," Frieda muttered.

"I'll let her have this night," her father said. "But she'll be gone before the weekend. You'll have to visit Shiganshina by yourself."

Frieda stared at him. She straightened her shoulders and raised her head high. "Fine," she said.

All the while, Eren's father signed away.

What was he signing, exactly?

Eren still could not say.

* * *

The truck rocked and the water spat and Armin's head smashed against the steering wheel, his ribs colliding with the seatbelt and all breath and vision and thought leaving him as he hung in between crushing sleep and excruciating lucidity.

There was some vicious siren ringing in his ear, a slight little knife slicing through his eardrum and toying at the surface of his brain. It rang and rang and rang some more, and he groaned, holding his hand and feeling the wetness of water slick against his forehead. He opened his eyes, and through the white glare of dizzy stars he saw that the rainwater was very dark. He touched his forehead again, and he hissed.

The blood was running quick and warm into his eyebrow. His hair was tickling the torn skin.

He took a few deep breaths, attempting to fill his lungs once more with oxygen. His ears were still ringing and there was still white flecking his vision, dancing around the darkened truck. He could taste metal at the back of his throat, grazing his tongue and making him cough. He spat blood into his hands, tonguing the cut on the inside of his cheek.

With trembling fingers, he unbuckled the seatbelt. He'd known when crashing the truck that the river was too shallow here to drown in. The current couldn't do much. It was the incline into the river that had done the damage Armin had needed.

A little too much damage, maybe.

He held his head as he felt blindly around the car. It unlocked, and he all but toppled out of his seat, his legs splashing into the water up to his knees and the water spitting foam into his face. He swayed, leaning heavily against the car, and he blinked rapidly into the rain. It kissed his wet cheeks and washed out his wound.

His ears were still ringing. He steadied himself, lifting his feet from the sucking grip of the river, and he trudged to the bed of the truck, tipping his head to peer into it. It took him a bit to realize that there was no one there. Just a bunch of tools, a shovel, some rope. Armin gripped the truck, and he leaned heavily against it. Had Kenny fallen out in the crash?

Amongst the ringing, he heard distinctly human movement in the water behind him.

He turned just in time to get backhanded. Blood filled up his mouth and he gasped, choking on the foul, metallic tang. Everything was warm and fuzzy in spite of the chill of water crawling up his legs and biting into his bones. It was wet on his lips and in his eyes and he coughed and blinked and sunk against the truck, his head lolling back.

"Ooh, no you don't!" Kenny's words were muffled, slurred and distant. He was drunk and Armin was concussed and the ringing and the river were rushing round and round inside his head. Kenny grabbed him by the hair, and Armin's breath escaped him with a whole mouthful of blood as a knee was buried in his gut. "Ooh, wow, that's some blood… nice. Never got to see you bleed, did I? Nah?"

Armin coughed. There was more ringing in his ears, and it was killing him.

"Damn! You're so fuckin' fragile, man, you're worse than Levi was. I barely even hit you!" Kenny poked his cheek. "What the hell were you tryin' to accomplish, anyhow? You know what I've done, what I can do, what I will do…" Kenny gripped Armin's face roughly, his long, bony fingers digging into his cheeks. Blood dribbled onto his chin. "C'mon, you little piss head, come on, tell me. Go on. Speak. Can't you speak no more?"

"You…" Armin's voice was thick and his lips stumbled over themselves. "You know… you're gonna die."

Kenny blinked. His sunken eyes were hollows in his head, and his lips stretched into an almost grin.

"You wanna know something?" He leaned in close, and Armin was hit with the stink of whiskey on his breath. "Everybody dies, little man."

His fingers closed around Armin's throat.

Ringing. Ringing. Ringing.

It was funny. Armin had imagined dying time and time again, teetering on this grand edge, constantly falling backwards to the night when he'd shoved Eren and everything had been kick started into motion. Even when he'd suppressed the memory, even when he couldn't know why he was so goddamn angry at himself, he'd still blamed himself. He'd still wanted to die.

But now he had nothing but the innate fear of death. It was crushing his trachea. Death, death, death. Ringing, ringing, ringing. It was all around. Funny, wasn't it? He was going to die in the river. Choke. Die. And then he'd come back and hate himself even more.

When did it end?

His mind was growing hazy. Choke and die. Like Eren.  _Eren_ , Armin thought numbly.  _Mikasa._  He should have done more.

He didn't do enough.

Dying now?

What a waste.

Ringing, ringing, ringing, ring…ing…

Sirens.

Sirens!

A mist was billowing around his eyes, and anger filled him up and chewed him out. Nothing could compare. No emotion could compete with the unadulterated disdain that consumed him. With strength unknown to him, he reached into the bed of the truck.

His arm came down with inhuman force, and the flat of the shovel collided with Kenny's cheek, forcing him into the beat of the river current.

He wobbled on his feet, the shovel clenched in his fist. He fell to his knees, water crashing into him, threatening to sweep him away. He grappled with Kenny's shirt, yanking down the collar until he found exactly what he was looking for.

"Armin!"

He squinted up through the sheets of rain and the river mist. Beside the elevated part of the truck, still half stuck in the riverbed, Annie stood and stared at him. The beam of her flashlight was shattered by the rainfall.

"An… Annie…" he coughed. His fingers wound around the string around Kenny's throat.

Another officer skidded beside her, staring down into the river and gaping openly at the scene. Armin yanked the tooth until the string snapped, and he stuffed it in his pocket.

"What the hell…?" the man asked softly.

"Marlow," Annie said, "call this in."

"But what is it…?"

"He crashed," Armin choked out, lifting his legs and staggering through the current, shovel still in hand. "Oh my… oh my god… I…" He coughed. It was like knives erupting from his chest. "I was just… trying to help, I didn't…"

"Whoa!" Marlow skidded down the side of the bank, catching Armin by the shoulders and staring into his face. "Holy shit, did he beat you up?"

"I was only trying to help," Armin mumbled, not looking the man in the eye. He could feel Annie's stare, cold and uncomfortable. "I… I could smell the alcohol on his breath, I couldn't… I don't know what I did. He was talking about shit, I don't even…" He coughed. "I was… weak… fragile…? Like Levi, he said…"

"Huh?" Marlow sounded surprise. "Who's Levi?"

"Kenny Ackerman's son," Annie said, striding through the water and shooting Marlow a sharp glare. "He died years ago. Are you going to make that call, Marlow?"

"Yeah…" Marlow picked up Kenny first and lifted him into the bed of the truck. Armin watched bitterly.  _Just fucking die already you gross old man_.

When Marlow was out of earshot, Annie took Armin's face in her hands.

"What the hell did you do?" she whispered.

Tears sprung into his eyes.

"Just…" He coughed weakly. "Annie… if you could just hold him in jail… for a few days, just a few days… that'd help a lot."

"I don't even know if I can hold him for the night," she hissed. Her eyes flickered over his face. "God, look at you. You're a wreck."

"I'll be fine." Blood was crusting on his lips as he spoke. "All I need is that motherfucker in jail. You have him for drunk driving and assault, that's gotta be at least a few days… right?"

She frowned. "Maybe…" she murmured.

Armin glanced down at the shovel in his hands. He realized what shovel it was.

"Fuck!" He tossed the shovel back into the bed of the truck. It hit Kenny in the face again, and he groaned. Armin couldn't help but wince. "Oops…"

"What is going on?" Annie stared at him with narrowed eyes.

"I don't know," he admitted.

When he looked up, Levi was standing on the riverbank. He found himself staring at a loss.

"We have to go back," he said solemnly. "He took more than just a tooth."

Armin stood knee deep in the frigid river, water lapping up his thighs and silt gathering inside his shoes, and he shook against the water's beat and the rain's shivery kiss.

"You're fucking  _kidding_  me."

"What?" Annie shot him a strange look, and he shook his head, blood swishing in his mouth as he waded toward the muddy bank. He hocked a mouthful of blood and spittle and phlegm into the river and leaned his hands against the mudslide that was the bank's incline, his fingers burying in the cold, wet ooze. He coughed, air knifing through his chest and tears prickling his eyes. What was he to do? He was in no position to go back to that house.

But Levi was still standing at the top of the bank, rain slicing through his opaque body, too aware that he was nothing but a trick of the light, a tricky little specter.

"Armin." Annie pressed her hand to his back. "Do you want me to call this in? You can take a rig back to a hospital—"

"No," he gasped, clawing his way up the slippery ridge, his knees and elbows collapsing against the onslaught of mud. "Just get… get him to jail, okay?"

"Armin." Annie's voice was low and sharp. It carried over the roar of the river and the patter of the rain. "Armin! What the hell are you doing?"

"I don't know!" He doubled over at the top of the riverbank, wheezing a little as his muddy hands clawed at his throat. He coughed some more, feeling light-headed and achy. "I… I…"

"You need to go to a hospital."

"All I  _need_ ," Armin heaved, his body hunched over and his knees sinking into the wet grass, "is for you to keep Kenny Ackerman locked up! If you… if you can't do that, Annie, than you might as well shoot me right now!"

She gaped up at him, her face partially visible in the distortion of rain. Both her eyes were enlarged from pure shock, her damp yellow hair curling around her nose and cheek. She was clearly concerned for his well being, and that was really fucking touching and all, but he didn't have the time to be concerned about his health at the moment because if he didn't get a hold of Levi's ghost before Kenny was released from jail, he was already dead.

He knew that. He knew his days were numbered the moment he'd walked into that fucking house.

And Levi had known that too.

He'd warned Armin of the risk, and Armin had done it anyway.

Why?

Why did he care so fucking little about whether he lived or died?

He pushed himself shakily to his feet, blood streaming from his nose and rusting about his tongue, and he bolted forward into the rain, his knees snapping and wobbling. He was stumbling blindly into the street, the shimmery black pavement playing tricks with his bleary eyes, and his stomach lurched with every step, for he thought he might fall upon a watery pitfall if he took a misstep.

The weariness didn't let up, even as he slowed, and he felt sluggish and weak, as though his limbs were suddenly dead weight and he had to drag them forward inch by inch. This was some form of hell or torture, he just knew it. He could taste all the blood on his tongue, stinging the back of his throat, and he wanted to vomit. He could barely breathe, and his throat was aching from the strangulation thing that had just been inflicted upon it, and he just wanted to pass out and sleep, but Levi had told him to go back, and what could he do?

He didn't have a choice anymore. He had to move fast, or else he would die, and if he died then what of Mikasa? What of Jean? There was no  _time_ to plan a will or plan an alternative strategy! There was no other solution!

Armin had to get Levi back his agency, and then let Levi kill Kenny.

He tripped a bit as he stumbled up Kenny's driveway, falling into the cover of the garage and doubling over, taking great big gulps of air and squeezing his eyes shut to staunch the tears. He listened as water dribbled against the concrete, the soft pattering of rainwater and blood filling his ears.

It seemed to be pouring from his nose and mouth like a slim red waterfall.

He swiped at it, coughing meagerly, and it simply smeared across his muddy hands and made his mouth taste like iron and slime.

Levi stood before him, watching with a dull gaze.

"You should hurry up," he said.

"Shh!" Armin threw his hand out, waving Levi off as he coughed again, stumbling through the garage door and into Kenny's kitchen. "What the fuck… am I even looking for?"

"Remnants of me," Levi answered blankly. "You need to find the rest."

"Where are they?"

"I don't know."

"God damn it, Levi!" Armin coughed, blood dribbling into his mud-caked hand, and he slipped against the tile floor as he trudged forward. "If I pass out in here, wake up Mikasa."

"Yeah, okay, kiddo, just fucking search."

"We are the same age!" He rasped, throwing his hands up in contempt.

"No we're not," Levi snapped. "I am years older, now hurry up and search before you end up as dead as I am!"

"Well where the hell do I even  _start_?" He leaned heavily against the sink, his muddy fingers slipping against the gleaming steel. He spat a glob of blood into the drain, tasting its residual gooeyness on the surface of his tongue. He felt sick right then and there, but he didn't and that only made him feel worse because his stomach was in knots and his skin was hot and clammy, shivers shooting from his had to his toes.

Levi didn't answer. He merely stood there, with his stark face and his somber expression, and Armin shook and wobbled and bled, the shock of the accident and the strangulation and the icy river sinking into his bones.

They stared at each other. Armin had trusted him, and now Levi was throwing all the responsibility back at Armin.

What could he really expect from a dead man, anyway?

Armin rested his back against the sink, supporting himself by throwing his weight against the counter and praying he didn't slip. It eased his suffering for about a second, and then it all came tumbling back into his waterlogged bones and stiff muscles, his joints locking from the ice that seemed to cling to his tendons. His eyesight was failing him, water and tears and sheer exhaustion making his vision bleary. His breaths escaped his chest in heavy rattles.

He jumped out of his skin as a great crash rumbled from below his feet, throttling his skull and his ribs, constricting his chest and stealing away his breath.

"What was that?" he gasped, pushing off the sink shakily, his muddy shoes squeaking across the tile. Levi's eyes flashed, first toward the floor and then toward the ceiling. His brow grew furrowed. He turned his long, solemn face toward the door beneath the stairs.

Armin ran as fast as his weak legs could take him, throwing himself at the door and attempting to throw it open. It was locked. He shook it furiously, and he gritted his teeth, his slimy fingers leaving a muddy trail across the silver surface.

"Levi—!"

The door burst open, the doorknob tearing from his grip and smacking against the opposite wall with a resounding crash. Armin stood for a moment, stunned, before he heard the distinct sound of something struggling in the blanket of darkness at the end of the stairwell. Armin felt along the wall blindly until he caught a switch, and he flicked it, finding some bare relief in the ignition of light across the gray basement floor.

He took slow, agonizing steps, noting the backless risers and blinking as he came toward the middle of the stairs. He paused mid-step as the basement was revealed to him, and the sight of a small, wriggling body swinging from a creaky rope seared itself into the corners of his brain.

Something cold and spindly caught his ankle from the space between steps, and his stomach did a little flip as his body tipped forward and flung itself without permission down the remaining stairs, his shoulders colliding roughly with the blunt edges. He smashed his forehead off the concrete floor, and he gasped in the blinding burst of pain that smothered his vision with white stars. The lights in his head were flickering.

The lights in the basement were flickering.

He groaned softly, his body so sore that inhaling even just a small puff of breath caused an unbelievable amount of pain starting from his nose and exploding inside his chest.

Through the flickering light, he could see little legs kicking helplessly, and through the ringing in his ears he could hear the creaking of the rope as it constricted a little girl's trachea.

He pushed himself up, his muscles screeching in protest, and he dragged himself toward the swinging girl, squinting through the shuddering light and through the white-hot stars and through the residual water, and he realized it wasn't a little girl at all.

He struggled to his feet, stumbling toward the hanging girl and throwing his arms around her middle, attempting to heft her up above him so that she might get a breath of air.

"Historia!" His face was burrowed in her side, so he doubted she heard him. She was no longer kicking, and her tiny fingers rested limply in his hair. He twisted his face away, and he flung his head back to see where the rope was. "Oh no, oh no, oh no…"

In the destabilized lighting, Levi on the other side of Historia, tilting his head at her with a dull expression. Armin's arms felt like they were about to fall right off as he struggled to keep Historia up.

"What are you doing?" he gasped, throwing Levi a disdainful glance. "Get her down!"

His jaw tightened. He took a step back.

"Levi!" Armin stared at the man desperately, his voice breaking alongside his heart. The man wasn't looking at Armin, but at Historia, whose flaxen hair curtained her face and her noose, rustling in the shivery wind. Armin shuddered, his grip on her slipping, his knees threatening to give way, and tears filled his eyes. "Levi, please… please help me…"

Levi stood amongst the shivering wind and the shivering light, a tiny silhouette on a strobe light stage, and he looked almost remorseful as he watched Historia hang.

"No," he said. And once the lights flickered again, spilling Armin in complete darkness, he was gone.

Armin's lips trembled. He didn't want to look up at Historia, because he didn't want to see his friend die, because he didn't want to go through that again. He was losing his grip on her. Tears filled his eyes, and a tiny sob broke through the air.

The lights were thrown on again, and Armin twisted his face, his eyes scanning the basement for something he could use to cut her down. He saw an antique chair sitting on its side a few yards away. His heart dropped into his stomach, and he clutched Historia tighter.

There was no way in hell Historia could have kicked it that far.

 _If Historia didn't kick it_ , he thought wildly, his blood freezing in his veins,  _then who did?  
_

In the roaring quietude of the basement, he could hear two things. His breath rattling, and someone else's.

He looked up at Historia's face.

He gave in.

She slipped from his fingers and swung like a pendulum as he sunk to his knees, too weak to possibly hold himself upright, to hold her upright, to hold onto anything or anyone.

He threw his head back and screamed at the top of his lungs.

" _EREN_!"

Because what else could he possibly do at this point?

What could he do?

What was worse?

What was the lesser of two evils?

Let Historia die here, be murdered in the guise of suicide?

Or…

"What the fuck?"

He looked up. He wondered how this looked. Him on his hands and knees, caked head to toe in mud, soaked to the bone and bleeding profusely from the mouth and the nose and the forehead. Not to mention the bruises on his face that had not yet healed. And above this ghastly, beaten boy, Historia Reiss hanged with feeble resistance, her little feet twitching and her once limp fingers clenching and unclenching.

And there Eren stood. A savior among saviors.

Armin smiled at him in disbelief.

"Help," he gasped, tears flooding his cheeks. He trembled in his shock, and he bowed his forehead to the concrete floor. It smelled of a distinct must, mildew sinking into its surface.

"Historia…?" Eren sounded so innocently confused. And then, anger struck him like a lightning bolt. "Holy fuck,  _Historia_!"

He was reaching out, his hand slipping through the rope when Armin looked up. His face was stricken with horror. Fear.

He couldn't touch the rope.

He wasn't tangible.

He couldn't do it.

He couldn't save her.

Armin didn't know what to do.

"No," Eren hissed, grappling at the rope with both hands, swiping through it once, twice, thrice. "No, no, no!"

"Eren…"

"I can't…" Eren stared up into Historia's face, and his expression fell. "She's… she's still alive, but I can't…"

"Yes you can."

Eren looked down at him sharply.

Armin was shaking from the chill, from his injuries, from the stark fear of whatever or whoever was down there with them, from the unbridled sobs. He was shaking because he was weak, and because he knew he couldn't do a thing.

But Eren could. He had to.

"Eren," Armin gasped, smiling a big, bloody smile, "if she dies, I die."

It was a promise he'd made, after all.

How truthful was this declaration, he wondered.

It didn't matter.

It had worked.

Eren's eyes became suddenly hard, and his lips curled back in a snarl distinctly defiant. He glanced at the rope strangling Historia, and he glowered at it, his eyes shadowing over.

The lights began to flicker again.

And the rope snapped.

Armin caught her, barely, and they both collided against the floor. Armin fumbled with the rope, pulling it roughly over her head and untangling it from her hair. Her throat was red and raw, and he checked her pulse with shaky fingers.

"Do… do something…" Eren's voice was all around the room, shaky and thin. "Wake her up… or I will…"

Armin pulled Historia's head into his lap, pushing her hair from her face, and he opened her mouth and covered it with his. He was struggling to recollect CPR lessons, but it seemed to be enough to give her some air to breathe, because her eyes immediately snapped open.

He lifted his head as she coughed into his face, her tiny fingers trembling at her throat. Tears filled her eyes, and she swung her face around fearfully, her mouth opening and closing, soft whimpers leaving her lips.

"Hey," Armin gasped, "hey, it's okay! It's okay. You're okay."

She stared at him with wide, terrified eyes.

Armin looked up at Eren. He was flickering worse than the light.

"Go to sleep, Eren," Armin whispered.

"No," Eren said.

"You have to."

"I don't."

"You'll disappear if you don't, won't you?" Armin shook his head, and it hurt so bad to just do that one little action. "I can't lose you."

"What…?" Historia croaked into Armin's wet shirt. "Who…?"

"It's okay, Historia," Armin said to her gently. "It's just Eren."

"Who…?" Her great blue eyes flashed in confusion. "Who are you?"

Armin's heart sunk.

 _Kenny_ , he thought furiously, holding her shoulders and feeling like he'd just been slugged in the jaw.

"Who are you?" Eren asked in a quiet voice. Darkness and wind came with that voice. There was someone lurking in that darkness and in that wind, but Armin didn't know what or who.

She lifted her body up, holding her head gingerly, and she turned her tear-streaked face toward Eren.

"I don't know," she whispered.

"You will," Eren told her.

And then he disappeared.

Armin stared at the empty space left behind, and he swayed weakly. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to get home at this rate.

He and Historia sat on the cold concrete floor, the remnants of the noose swinging above them. He was shaking very badly, and he supposed he should count himself lucky to be alive.

"Are you okay?" Historia asked in her tiny little voice.

"Not really…" Armin sniffed, and blood shot up his nose. He grimaced. "What about you?"

She turned to face him, and she shot him a radiant little smile that only a girl of her inexplicable peculiarity could pull off beautifully.

"I don't know how to answer that," she said. She paused, and she glanced up at the ceiling. "I'm okay. She's scared."

"What?"

She reached out, cupping Armin's cheeks with her tiny hands, and she kissed him. It was a sweet kiss, but very strong and very deep, the stubs of her fingers digging into his jaw and his neck. She dragged his face very close, her cold thumbs stroking smears into the layers of grime that caked his cheekbones. There was no taste to her, merely the sensation of trembling lips against a busted, bloody mouth, and it brought tears to his eyes from the sheer pain of it. He could only sit, frozen in her grasp, and let her kiss him with the softness and urgency of someone who knew their days were numbered.

She was no longer smiling, upon meeting a hint of resistance, and she sighed against his lips.

He sat frozen, trembling in absolute terror. She pulled back, grimacing a little as she wiped the blood from her lips. Then she raised her eyes to his, and she smiled sheepishly.

"Okay, before you yell at me," she said weakly, "I totally asked first!"

Armin felt a little numb. It took him a moment to digest it.

His eyes widened in shock.

" _Eren_?"


	21. Chapter 21

**a miraculous escape**

It was a cool summer night, a toying breeze running its fingers through the tall grass. The air tasted like the sun had baked the earth dry, and the moon was attempting to cool it with the sweet release of darkness. The thick acidity of rain was haunting them as they walked, blades of grass scratching their bare legs as they parted the field with their stamping feet and waving arms.

"Isn't there a race tonight?" Armin gasped, still very young and small and stubby. Eren and Armin had always been physically opposites.

As a child, Eren had always looked wild. His eyes were big and green but cut sharply, remarkably bold and bright, like faceted stones, inlaid emeralds glowing fiercely behind feathery black lashes. Like any child, his face was round, but it was smooth and dark and strong where it would eventually become sturdy and sharp. His skin was already dark, but back then he'd spent days and days and days on end lazing half-naked in the sun, and his entire body had become like a small bronze statue because of it.

Armin was so different. His eyes were always huge, always round, always watery and innocent and glimmering curiously. His face was round, but chubby. His skull was small beneath the roundness of his cheeks, his button nose pushing into his face. His skin was wan and translucent, patchy and red in the summer, peppered with light freckles that stretched his reddened nose. His limbs were short and bony, and he was somewhat sickly and asthmatic.

But that never stopped either of them. They ran completely wild, exploring and running and falling into heaps of trouble, but that never mattered because it was fun. It was fun to be with Armin, fun to laugh and breathe easy, fun to be free.

It was considerably more fun nowadays, since the haunting had begun.

"Is there?" Eren whacked at the long grass, raising his head toward the cloudy sky.

"Mikasa might be there," Armin said thoughtfully. "Maybe we should go?"

"There will be other races." Eren exhaled sharply through his nose. They were twelve, and that babyish roundness of his face was slipping away. He could feel his limbs stretching out, the proof being the myriad of pale marks drawn across his thighs. He something hit his head. He turned his face up toward the dark sky again, and a grin split across his face. "Ah! Fucking finally!"

"What?" Armin blinked at him curiously, and he yelped when Eren grabbed his hand and pulled him through the grass.

The droplets were unevenly spaced, fat and heavy as they plopped against Eren's wrist, slid against Armin's cheek, crashed into Eren's neck. Eren led Armin through the grass and into the woods, skirting the edge of the trees while minding Armin's heavy footfalls.

"It's raining," Armin remarked.

"Thank you for that amazing observation," Eren snorted. "Like I couldn't tell!"

"Ha ha," Armin stated flatly. "Very funny. Shouldn't we head back? It'll be a real mess if we wait for it to start pouring."

"No, no," Eren gasped, jumping up onto a rock and whirling to face Armin. In the darkness, the only thing truly discernable about his appearance were his great, shining eyes, pure beacons in the mist of rain. "Don't you see? We  _want_ it to pour!"

"Do we?" Armin's eyes narrowed. "Do we really?"

"Don't get snippy with me, buddy." Eren squeezed Armin's hand. "Let's have a fucking adventure!"

"Eren," Armin said gently, "when are we not having fucking adventures?"

"Well, then, it's just another to add to the list!" Eren dragged him up onto the rock, and he grinned broadly. "What, are you scared or something? Trust me, Armin, this is gonna be fun!"

"What are we doing, exactly?" Armin asked weakly.

Eren flashed him a wicked grin. He jumped down from the rock, and then he bolted into a sprint. He was, by all accounts, feeling the buzz of summer coming to an end. He wanted the high to continue, and he wanted to feel like he was good, like he was in a good place, like the days didn't drag, like the fear wasn't a constant throttling presence.

When he was with Armin, he could pretend like he wasn't teetering on the edge of madness, living life with whispers clogging his ears and screams wearing down his throat.

And this feeling? This great rush, this holy high, this exhilaration that seemed so powerful and unending, it was consuming him. He felt happy.

Eren's happiness was so often eclipsed by his growing terror that times like this? They never really felt real.

He was so happy and dazed, it was like he was in a dream.

Rain splashed against his face, and his laughter echoed against the trees, bouncing through the slow, thick drops and waving back at him.

He skidded down an incline, his heart pounding in his chest, and he whirled around to look up at arm. Sounds of nature, croaking frogs and chirping crickets and the sweet, familiar rush of the river just behind him, and the distinct patter of raindrops against leaves, water, and soil, collided in a humming symphony inside his ears.

"Come on, Armin!" Eren gasped. "Hurry up!"

Armin stood at the top of the incline, his hair in disarray, his mouth gaping, and he heaved deep breaths. Another beautiful sound to add to the other instruments of nature. A flute amongst percussion.

Eren kicked off his shoes and removed his shirt, grinning so broadly that his cheeks hurt. Armin came stumbling slowly down the hill. The rain was heavy now, coming down quick and sudden, splashing in Eren's gleaming eyes.

"What are you doing?" Armin shouted over the din of rain and river.

"Living a little!" Eren laughed, kicking off his shorts, his fingers flying to the waistband of his boxers.

"Are you kidding?" Armin squeaked.

"Nope!" Eren felt his chest rising and falling in great, shuddering movements. The night was cooler than usual, but he still felt a buzzing beneath his skin, a heat of madness that preyed on his happiness and launched him into a frenzy. He had to have this.

It would be like washing away all the dirt and grime that had accumulated on his soul since this had all started. A christening of his own making.

Absolution of sins he'd never committed.

"Eren," Armin gasped as the crumpled clothing was tossed onto a mossy rock. "Eren, your clothes are going to get all dirty!"

"Who cares?" Eren jumped, the river guttering and splashing up to his bare thighs, a cool rush that made his muscles tingle from his toes to his lips. He moved quickly, wading into the river and throwing himself into the current, the mist spitting into his eyes as he laughed. The sound was drowned by the forest's shuddering symphony.

The water was cold and biting of course, but it was a minor discomfort against his naked skin as he floated on his back, feeling the urgent push of the current kick feebly at his skull, irritable and weak.

The raindrops were gathering in the creases of his nose, fat and slippery. He kicked his legs out, stretching his limbs out and feeling his body turn about in a slow, lazy motion. He was floating on the busy surface of the water, too heavy to be moved downriver and too light to be sucked to the bottom.

"Eren!" Armin sounded distressed. "Come on, what are you doing?"

"You come on!" Rain gathered in his gaping mouth, and he smiled contentedly. "Come here, Armin! Swim with me!"

Armin sighed so loudly it carried above the rain. Eren leveled himself, standing upright in the water. His feet brushed the cold, squishy moss at the bottom of the riverbed, and he waded back carefully toward the bank. The water was black and white, utterly still in sections of the stream and violently strong in others.

In the dark, Armin's pale skin was electric. He glowed like a pallid, luminescent mushroom on the forest floor, his thin shoulders hunching anxiously. He didn't remove his boxers as Eren had, though Eren couldn't understand why, and he dipped his toes into the rocky edge of the stream.

"Come on," Eren said gently. He moved closer, beckoning Armin into the water, his fingers playing at the air, plucking at words like they were lyre strings. "Don't be scared. Why should you be? I would never lead you into anything dangerous, Armin."

"Of course not," Armin said bitterly. His feet glided against the rocks that Eren had dodged to get to the deeper part of the river. It was so dark, and Armin moved so slow, feeling at the bottom of the river blindly. His arms were outstretched to help balance him. The rain struck him, unkind slaps against his bare skin.

Armin nearly slipped, and Eren jerked forward, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him gently. Armin was shaking a little, his hands falling blindly against the ridges of Eren's ribs. His head drooped, his wet forehead smacking against Eren's chest, hair tickling his throat and hot breath blooming beneath Eren's collarbone. He was panting from terror. His hands moved desperately, likely trying to find a sturdy place so he could push himself upright, but his nails raked Eren's skin, pressing to the flat of his abdomen and causing his breath to hitch.

The water barely reached the base of his hips, and that was where Armin's fingers decided to linger, biting into the concaves of Eren's hipbones. His throat felt dry, and his stomach felt uncomfortably empty, and he stood a little dazedly as Armin pushed himself upright.

"Sorry," Armin mumbled, prying his nails from Eren's skin to mop his stringy blonde hair up on the top of his head.

Eren managed a shaky grin. "You're okay?" He didn't sound as strange as he felt.

"Yeah. Fine." Armin laughed weakly. And then he splashed water Eren in the face.

"Shit!" Eren grabbed Armin's arm as he tried to slip away. "Not so fast, motherfucker!"

Eren tackled him and pulled him underwater.

* * *

"Surprise?" Historia's voice was hoarse as Eren's word spilled out of her lips. Armin's heart thudded hard against his chest, and he wanted to skitter back, move far, far away from this girl— his best friend trapped in Historia's body.

"Fuck no," Armin said flatly. Blood flew from his lips, speckling Historia's immaculate face. Eren did not even flinch. Big blue eyes watched him unblinkingly, a sheepish smile tugging on plump pink lips. "Get out of her body. Right now."

"She said I can stay for a little bit." Her shoulders shrugged, and she touched her throat vacantly. "Holy shit, ow…"

"Eren," Armin said sharply. "I'm not fucking kidding around. Get the fuck out of her body right now!"

"No." He stood up, wobbling a little and stumbling back. "Whoa! Tiny legs. And…" She held her head, her lips parting dazedly. "Oh… light headed… okay…"

Armin's stomach clenched up. His head was pounding, his body shaking, his limbs jerky and achy, and he could not even breathe properly. He winced, and he picked himself up, dragging his feet as he caught Historia's arms. She collided with his chest, sinking into his arms and laughing weakly.

"You're so tall!" Eren was laughing through Historia's throat, and the sound was weak and pretty, like distant wind chimes. "You've never been taller than me before. Oh, ew, you smell gross. Ha!" Hysterical laughter began to vibrate against Armin's chest. "I can smell things! Oh my god, this is amazing."

" _Eren_."

"Armin…" She lifted her head, and Armin's heart sunk. Their eyes were glistening, their lips split into a wide, shaky smile. "Please… please just let me have this… just for a little while…"

The light flickered, and the voice lingered, breathless against the chilled air. Tears sprung into Armin's eyes as he hugged the tiny girl closer.  _I'm sorry_ , he thought to her, biting his tongue to keep from screaming, from spitting vile words in contempt of Eren's selfishness. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't be angry, not when Eren was so desperate and so happy.

"You know how wrong this is," Armin murmured. Historia's head nodded sharply, tears slipping against her rosy cheeks.

"Yes," Eren said thickly. "I don't actually want to keep her body, I…" He coughed, a sharp, knifing sound that shook Historia's whole body. "I just… I need time. I can't disappear right now, not when you need me. This way, with Historia accepting me, I can…" He held her head, blinking dazedly. "I can conserve some energy… I think…"

"I thought possession took up energy."

"It does," Eren said quietly. "When the host soul fights back. But like I said. Historia isn't fighting. She said I could do this."

"Why?" Armin's lips were numb. His fingers shook against Historia's shoulders. "Eren, what happened to her?"

"Kenny just did to her what he did to Levi all those times, I guess," Eren said distantly. "I don't know. She doesn't remember."

The light flickered sharply. In the instant of pure darkness, Armin could hear skittering in the empty space. Something was moving. Crawling against the cold concrete floor, fast and jerky. He held Historia tighter, pulling her defensively toward his chest. They blinked up at him, their eyebrows arching.

"Uh oh. She's here," Eren said, tilting Historia's head and glancing around the basement.

"Who?"

"Shh." Historia's index finger snapped against his lips. The sound continued, and Historia stood, her shoulders hunched and her dirty feet bounced against the floor.

"Eren," Armin snapped.

"Shh!" Her pale nightgown fluttered around her calves as they turned about slowly, her chapped heels scraping the dusty floor. Wispy, unwashed blonde hair fluttered around her head, and blue eyes flashed dangerously. The sounds were growing louder, rustling emitting from the gathering shadows, shuddering like breath expelling into the air hitting their ears. They stopped. "Armin, get up."

"What?" Armin tried to push himself upright, but he was too exhausted, his limbs too heavy.

They whirled to face him, hair whipping against their cheeks, and she spat a bit out of their mouth, grimacing and huffing. "Get up!" They started toward him, and Armin watched a great, shuddering shadow rise up behind them, the air turning cold and stale and the only breathing sound coming in short, disembodied bursts. Armin could only gape. Blood was pouring into his mouth.

They glanced behind them, and their teeth bared in contempt. "Armin,  _move_!" Eren snarled, using Historia's soft little voice to spit and growl and snap like a feral beast.

Armin shook as he pushed off the ground, swaying in shock and pain as the shadow solidified, becoming a small, hunched body crouched upon the stained concrete floor. The jerky little form was wearing a white frock almost identical to Historia's however it clung to her luminescent skin, discolored and blue and sagging. The ghosts sat crouched on the balls of her feet, her bony shoulders taut and her scraggly hair dark and damp and dangling in a slow, swaying motion.

She raised her face. Her bloated purple lips parted, her white teeth gleaming as a guttural sound escaped her mouth. Armin stumbled back, blinking rapidly as he met the monster's black, pitted eyes, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck rising in horror. When he blinked, she was gone, and that sent a cry of terror from his lips, shuddering through him and shaking him to his core.

There was shuffling. It moved all around, creaking in his ears. It stopped.

A pair of slender, stone-cold arms snaked around his chest.

He shrieked as the cold, wet body of the shivering ghost pressed against his back and dragged him down to the floor once more.

"Eren," Armin gasped, twisting against the vise grip of the ghost, icy fingers biting against the skin of his adam's apple. Blackened nails were clawing at his throat. He struggled, stretching himself forward and snatching at empty air, his eyesight blurry from panicked tears. "Eren!"

"Armin, relax!" Historia's voice was no comfort. It was shrill and vibrant, panicked and thin. There was no reassurance with Eren's shaky fear represented by Historia's feeble words. "Listen to me, okay? You'll be fine if you calm down!"

Armin let his arms fall, his lips trembling. He sunk in the arms of the predatory ghost. Her stringy hair was brushing one of the cuts on Armin's neck, grime settling inside the wound and stinging it. He bit his tongue. Her bony chin dug into his shoulder. Her clammy cheek slid against his. He could see her cracked, discolored lips parting into a chilling little smile.

He couldn't help but whimper.

"Don't look at her," Historia said. It was her voice, Eren's words, and none of it helped. Armin wanted to scream. "Look at me, Armin."

"That doesn't help!" Armin squeezed his eyes shut, a sob catching in his throat. "It doesn't help at all!"

"Armin—!"

"Little boy…" The ghost spoke in a thick, twittering rasp. It sent cold trails raking down Armin's spine, and he shook against the iron grip that held him firmly to the wavering ghost. It was a strained voice, sing-song and childish. "Little boy, don't you think you're too old now to be using a toy?"

"Listen." When Historia spoke, there was clear fury in her small voice. It shook and spat. "I don't need your fucking games right now. Just let him go!"

"Why?" the ghost hissed, spittle clinging to Armin's cheek. "What gain is there from releasing him when he is the reason little sister didn't die!"

"Calm the fuck down," Eren replied in a clipped, dead tone. "I was the one who let Historia off the rope. I'm the one who saved her. Why do you care so much, anyway? I don't get it, I thought you wanted her alive!"

"Stupid, silly, simple little boy!" The ghost let out a choking little laugh. "All I've ever done for that poor little girl was ruin and madden and destroy."

"I'm not going to pretend to get it," Eren said calmly. He was growing more accustomed to the pitch of Historia's voice, and it no longer wavered from his passion, because he'd carefully reduced it to a minimal presence. "I don't know you. But you don't know me either, and you definitely don't know Armin! Let him go. Let us both go. We can fix this!"

" _Lies_." The word slashed at the air, tearing open the tension like a saber through tender flesh. It stuck against his cheek, her lips vibrating in her rasping, rattling breaths, and she pulled him closer, closer, closer still. She hugged him to her like a child holding a stuffed bear.

"Please let him go," Eren whispered. "I don't understand. I thought you loved Historia!"

"What is love?" The monster murmured, turning her face into Armin's cheek and nuzzling his neck. His eyes were wide and teary, the basement a blur of black and yellow, and he could not hear her breathing any longer because the only sound present was the impatient drum of his heart beating at his ribs. "To a little boy I suppose it is this…" He could smell her breath, cold and terrible, the pungency of death wafting like the odor of a bog. She dragged her muddy fingers through his damp, shorn hair. He bit his tongue and squeezed his eyes shut. "And this…" She jerked his head back, and he felt his neck being exposed, his adam's apple pressing viciously to his skin and providing a strain upon his neck muscles. "And a little shove."

"Stop," Eren pleaded. "What the hell are you doing? I know you're not crazy, okay, stop the act! I'm a ghost too now! We need to communicate, you and me, because we're the only people who can possibly know what the other has been through!"

"Give me my little death," the ghost snapped. Armin choked as her grimy fingers clasped against his throat, her fingernails digging into his jugular.  _She's going to rip my throat out_ , he realized in muted horror. Every second that ticked past was another painful deepening of her overgrown, dirt encrusted fingernails. He couldn't breathe. "I want to see her bleed and break and be relieved of breath."

"You're a  _demon_ ," Eren snarled, coiling Historia's body in a strange, feral hunch. He bent forward so he had the tiny body on all four limbs, and through the blear of Armin's sight it was clear that there was a great, predatory smile biting through the curtain of Historia's pale hair. "You want her death? Take your best fucking shot!"

The ghost made a whispery noise, like teeth chattering, and the pressure on his throat lessened as her nails pulled out from his skin. He was thrown to the ground, and he felt a great rush of air as she skittered over him like a shadow, creeping along the floor at an alarming speed. Like a centipede in a frantic motion, legs and arms in an odd, twitching blur.

There was a crash, and the lights flickered, plunging the basement into unsettling darkness.

The sounds that came from that darkness made Armin's heart leap out of his chest.

Snaps and growls and hisses sprung from here to there, echoing in the small space. The movements were harsh, limbs scraping across the floor thunks and thumps and thwacks, bodies colliding and fingers scraping. It was like listening to wild animals slash and gnash at one another, a claw tearing against flash, a maw closing around a throat. It was all senseless noise, all of it coming fast and hard and ceaselessly, and it made Armin scream.

"Stop it!" He dragged himself across the floor blindly, his heart palpitating in his throat. "Stop— stop it right now!"

His words did nothing. The sounds only continued.

"Stop…" Armin's voice was but a wisp, a rasp, a tender croak of despair. He couldn't tell where Eren was, if he was okay, if Historia was okay, if anything was okay, and it terrified him.

He grew lightheaded. The darkness was feeding on his fear, on his pain, on the monstrous headache that beat at his skull. He was bleeding profusely from multiple places, and he felt wetness on his lashes, be it sweat, be it mud, be it blood, it didn't matter. The effect was the same.

The darkness was laced with blotted white dots.

"Eren…" Armin didn't know where he was reaching, but he reached, and he reached, and he reached a little more. It didn't matter. He lost himself in a sea of white, and did not register hitting the floor.

In a dream he stood in that very same basement. It was empty. Emptied. Of life. Of character. There was no swaying light bulb, and yet it was lit up, starkly bright and ugly. It was cold. Cold, yes. He shivered. He rubbed his arms. Cold.

There were storm shelter doors. Rusted and creaky, they screamed open. He watched lazily. He peered around the empty basement. Cold and empty. And he left. He climbed up the stairs, blinking into the streaming rays of sunlight, blinded and confused. His bare feet sunk into soft grass, and he was able to relax. Finally.

He was sitting in a ring. Flowers grew in a circle around him. Fat and red. Fat and orange. Fat and happy. Levi sat across from him.

"Why do you think I died?"

He was a child. Small and soft and dazed. He was twirling a knife in his tiny hands. Handcuffs swung from one scrawny wrist. The chain snapped as it made its way round and round and round. Then round and round and round again.

"Because…" Armin didn't really know what Levi wanted to here. He was hard to read, implacable and inscrutable and indomitable. But here he sat, a child. Thin little lips pursed into a strong pout. Pale eyes drawing sharp lines across Armin's face. Shaggy hair framing sharp, malnourished cheeks. He was the picture of misfortune. "Because, Levi, you had no life to begin with."

"That's not very nice." The knife whirled. Eyes flashed. Head lolled. "Explain."

"Your father raised you just so he could sacrifice you," Armin explained. He spoke, and the words spilt like a milk bottle shattered upon tile. His teeth were glass. "He took you, took your head, and he broke you, and he broke it, again and again and again and again, and you couldn't do a thing to stop it. Memories make a person who they are. You were continuously plunged into a state of shock,  _tabula rasa_ , over and over and over. You never lived, Levi."

"I lived once," he said softly.

"And what kind of life was that?"

The boy lowered his head. The knife glinted in his tiny fist.

"A sad one."

"A sad life," Armin whispered, "and a sadder death. You have nothing of your own."

"I had friends." Levi stabbed the knife into the grass, and he stood on his tiny legs, his body shuddering. He was battered now. Bruises snaked up his scrawny little legs, up beneath the hem of his shorts, darkening his sickly pale arms, lacing his collarbone, clamping around his throat, kissing his jaw, biting his lower lip, tracing his left cheekbone, blackening his already swollen eyelid. "Did they love me? Even a little bit?"

"Don't you remember?"

"I remember only the bad things."

"Oh." Words. Milk. Teeth. Glass. "They loved you. They loved you so dearly, and you never even knew it. You were so loved. It wasn't fair that Kenny stole that from you."

"Did I love them too?" He looked up at Armin innocently.

"I couldn't say."

Levi's innocent gaze turned hard.

"What good are you?" he spat. His battered little body collapsed into a pile of bones. The sunlight that bathed the little field was stolen, blanketed by steely clouds. Trees sprung up from the ground around him. Limbs stretched up toward the sky. Skeletons of branches. Hulking trunks. The grass receded into the ground, and roots snaked across the loosened dirt.

The flowers the ringed Armin shed their skin like writhing little snakes. Mushrooms bloomed where petals fell.

Eren scooped up Levi's skull. He grinned as he plopped down across from Armin. The mushrooms were bioluminescent, and Eren's dark face glowed in the shimmery blue light. He thumbed at the hollows of the skull.

"Why did you have to die?" Armin blurted. Tears sprung into his eyes. Tears. Eyes. And Eren's smile. These were forever things.

"Alas," Eren said with a joyless sort of smirk, "poor Levi."

"Don't start quoting Hamlet at me," Armin pleaded. "Or I'll kill you again."

"To be or not to be," Eren said, gripping the skull with two hands, "ain't that just the kicker?"

"Eren!"

"You want to die, but you can't figure a decent way to do it yourself, because you know you might fail or worse." Eren shrugged. "Life's such a pain. I'm glad to be rid of it."

"That's a lie." Armin watched the skull as it was juggled, tossed from one hand to the other. "Eren, please… tell me, why did you have to die?"

"Why do you think I died?" Eren tilted his head. He tossed the skull up in the air, and he caught it with one hand.

"Because I pushed you," Armin whispered. Fat and miserable tears drooped from his eyes. "I pushed you because I was scared, and now you're dead, and why do I have to live with that? I don't want to. I hate this, Eren. I hate all of this."

"You pushed me because I wanted you to." Eren sounded bored. He tossed the skull like a baseball, up and up and then it was caught cleanly in his palm. "One little death for another. Simple. But why do you think I died?"

"I told you—"

"Why do you think I wanted to die?" Eren pushed. He leaned forward. He grinned. "Get a clue! I hated living."

"No you didn't."

"So maybe I didn't." Eren looked away. "What's the difference? I was miserable when I was alive, whether you noticed or not. Being dead is better. I can sleep."

"But you can't do anything!"

"I can see you," Eren said vacantly. "I can talk to you and Mikasa. What else could I ever need?"

"A life, Eren!"

"Fuck that!" Eren smashed Levi's skull upon the forest floor. It shattered into a thousand tiny shards, made of glass like Armin's teeth. "I don't want to live if it means I have to sacrifice one of my friends!"

"I never said it did!"

"You don't know anything!"

He disappeared in a great burst of flames. The forest around him caught fire, and he felt vaguely panicked, like he should run, but he couldn't budge an inch, so he watched as greasy smoke smothered him and made him wheeze and cough and cry. The ring of mushrooms were seared away, and in their place a ring of fire danced around him.

Historia stood dazedly before him. The rest of the fire had died. All but for the ring, which swayed and waved, bending to a rhythm only it could hear.

They stared at each other.

"Why do I have to die?" she whispered.

Armin sat. He stared.

"You don't," he answered simply.

He stood up. The flames tickled as he walked through them, and he held open his arms. She eyed them warily, so he hugged her without hesitation, feeling her sink into the embrace. He could smell the fragrance of her hair, soapy and dull.

He opened his eyes blearily. The fragrance did not die with the dream.

Through his foggy vision he was able to decide a few things.

One, he was awake.

Two, he was lying in a hospital bed.

Three, Historia was curled up beside him, her face buried in his chest.

He groaned as he tried to shift in the cot, his entire body rejecting the motion. His chest hurt. He inhaled, and he coughed.

Historia's eyes snapped open. She sat up, and her pale hair settled in a terrible nest upon her head.

"You're awake," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse. She pressed her fingers to his cheek, the back of her knuckles grazing his cheekbone. "Your fever is down too. That's really good…"

"His…" he choked, jerking away from her touch. "Historia, what…?"

"Oh." She slumped. As his vision sort of returned, half there and half not, he could tell that she was rather banged up. There was a large bump on her forehead and claw marks crawling beneath her hospital gown. Her wrist was bandaged. "Armin, it's me. Eren."

"What?" It took him a moment to remember what had happened. And then it all hit him at once. "What the  _fuck_?"

Armin shoved Eren off his bed, listening to Historia's body thump against the floor, and he drew the covers over his head, ignoring the tug of the wires stuck inside his arm.

"Um, ow?" Eren's words sounded very frail in Historia's voice. "What the fuck right back, pal!"

Armin threw the cover away and he huffed. "I don't want to talk to you until you get out of that body," Armin said. "I don't. I won't."

"Fine." Eren stood, dusting off their gown and rolling Historia's thin shoulders. "Suit yourself. Don't find out what happened after you passed out. Fine by me."

"You—!" Armin seethed.

"Me?" Eren was at the doorway when he turned, batting Historia's eyelashes innocently. "Why, I haven't done anything wrong."

"That's a fucking lie and you know it!" Armin gritted his teeth. "Why would you use Historia's body and crawl into my cot like that? It was creepy!"

Eren looked surprised. He leaned back, and gaped openly at Armin. "I was scared you wouldn't wake up," he said in Historia's soft, high voice. Her eyes drooped, and Eren leaned against the doorframe. "I'm sorry. I know this is weird."

"Give her back her body, Eren."

"I will," Eren promised. "But not right now. I still need it."

"For  _what_?"

"My plan." Eren smiled weakly. "Historia will be fine with it. When she gets her memories back. But for now, we need Historia Reiss without amnesia."

"I'm sorry, you have a plan?" Armin sunk into his cot. "Were you… gonna tell me… like… at all?"

"I didn't really think of it until like, a few hours ago," Eren laughed.

"Wow."

"Yeah, you were totally on the verge of death, so don't be sad you missed it." Eren shrugged. "It's not on you, buddy."

"How…" Armin pinched the bridge of his nose. "How long have I been out?"

"Umm, a few days?" Eren shrugged. "Give or take. Oh, Armin, I got to eat stuff! Granted it was nasty hospital food, but!" Eren bounced up and down excitedly. "Isn't that great? I forgot how good food was!"

"That's…" Armin's eyes slid away from Historia's vibrant face. It was blooming with a fresh blush, pink dusting her pale cheeks as her smile made her pretty features round and puffy, sort of awkward to behold, but fun and genuine nonetheless. Armin wondered if that face had ever smiled this much in its entire existence. And so he relented. "That's great, Eren. Holy shit…"

"Yeah!" He bounced on Historia's tiny feet, bare heels clapping noisily against the linoleum. "Yeah, yeah! And I get to feel things! It was raining yesterday, and I opened your window, and I got to feel the rain gathering in my palm! It tickled. It was so cold, too! Cold, Armin!"

"Yes," Armin said distantly. "I'm pretty well acquainted with that feeling."

"Right, yeah, stop killing my mood." Eren rolled Historia's big old eyes, and he laughed her tinkling laugh, whirling around and around, as the hospital gown whirled around their knees. "The tile is cold too! Historia keeps chiding me to put shoes on though. She's doing it right now."

"You should listen to her," Armin said flatly. "Considering it is, in fact, her body."

"Yeah…" Eren looked down. His beaming smile crashed to earth, shattering upon a rock and oozing discomfort. "Right. I'm sorry, Armin, I know this is weird."

"I don't care how weird it is." Armin folded his arms across his chest. He wanted to seem stern, like he was prepared to fight Eren on this issue, when in reality… his grip was slipping. He was giddy with joy at how goddamn happy Eren was. Not even his horror at the fact that Eren was in Historia's body could change that. "You are taking someone else's body and parading around like you own it. You know better than that, Eren. I know you do."

Eren lifted Historia's eyes. He smiled, and it was small and sad and soft.

"You don't know me nearly as well as you think you do," he whispered.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Eren sighed, walking slowly toward Armin's bed, "I have some owning up to do."

They jumped up onto the end of the cot, and he folded Historia's slender legs beneath them. Armin watched tiredly. He could barely keep his eyes open, and everything seemed to hurt even beneath the dull buzz of morphine shooting through his veins.

"Okay…" Armin shifted. "So is this the part where everything starts to make sense?"

Eren blinked at him. He snorted, gave a meager shrug, and let out a garbled, "I dunno."

"You're no help at all."

"Let's start with you." Eren leaned forward, eyes big and inquisitive. "Armin, is there anything you want to ask me? About what happened seven years ago, and even before that? I'm sure you don't know how to feel about anything, since I'm pretty inconsistent with my existence."

"Why did you have to die?" Armin asked without even pausing to think. The moment the words left his lips, he regretted them. They caused Historia's face to turn stony. Her jaw moved, and her eyes flashed, and Armin could sense Eren's signature tics springing forth from Historia's movements.

Eren closed his eyes. The way Historia's body was poised, she could have been a life-sized doll. When he moved, her limbs jerked, like a wind up toy. Her mouth opened and it closed mechanically as he spoke.

"Some people just can't be saved, Armin."

"That's bullshit," Armin whispered, tears springing to his eyes.

"Yes." Eren bowed his head. "It's fucking bullshit. It's  _bullshit_  that I had to die, but it had to happen anyway!" Their voice shook, and when he raised Historia's head, her cheeks were bright red, and his tears were welling up in her eyes. He coughed, and they averted their gaze quickly. "Urgh! Armin, stop making me fucking cry!"

"S-sorry!" Armin squeaked.

"It's okay, man, just…" Eren sniffled, smeared snot across the back of Historia's hand. "I just hate you a little right now, that's all."

"That's reasonable, I guess."

"Ugh…" He tilted his head back. His voice was thick and distant. "What was I saying…?

"I don't know, you were answering my question?"

"Oh." Eren sighed. "Right. Why I had to die. I guess I was too naïve, or too dumb. I couldn't stop the ritual on my own."

"You're not dumb!" Armin gasped, a burning sensation capturing his chest as he jerked forward, his fingers splaying in the air. "You're so smart, Eren, really! Don't belittle yourself! You handled the haunting stuff way better than I did."

"Nah." Eren smiled weakly. "You actually figured things out. I just tried to make connections, and failed to do it right."

"That's not true."

"I made a choice." A fierce stare was held between them, shot like a fire tipped arrow and striking Armin between the ribs. He found it difficult to breathe under that stare. "I don't regret it. I don't want to take it back. My death meant I got to give Mikasa seven more years of life. It was worth it."

"I don't understand," Armin murmured.

"I don't expect you to." Eren smiled, and he grasped Armin's hand, Historia's tiny fingers closing around his. "I kept you out of all this intentionally. I wanted you to be in the dark."

"It ruined everything."

"But it made me happy." Eren shrugged. "So I don't regret that either."

"How selfish of you."

"Caring about your happiness is  _not_  selfishness, Armin," Eren snapped. "Get your head out of your ass and open your eyes. The goal is always to achieve happiness. That's what living  _is_! Taking strides to attain comfort and contentment. So stop sacrificing your happiness for the sake of others. You need to live just as much as they do."

"Those are some funny words, coming from you," Armin said coldly.

"Listen, I know that my death hurt you," Eren spat, Historia's lips twisting into a sneer, "but you need to stop acting so fucking bitter about it! It happened! It's over! We can't do anything about it!"

"I  _killed_ you."

"And if you didn't, I would have done it myself!" Eren smacked the mattress with both palms, and Armin huffed, biting his tongue and sinking against his pillow. "I hate this conversation! You don't understand how bad it was, Armin!"

"You think I wouldn't understand?" It was strange how vicious Eren's words were. They held a power over Armin, rattling in his chest and striking his heart like shrapnel. He couldn't breathe correctly with all of this negativity crashing on top of him. "Eren. Eren, I've been a total  _wreck_  since you died! I really don't know how I survived it, I— I didn't eat sometimes, sometimes for days at a time, I barely slept, and I was constantly just spinning in this circle of hating myself and everyone, because  _you weren't there_ , and what was I supposed to do?" The tears were falling fast, skittering against his swollen cheeks. His voice was quaking and his breath was short. "What the hell was the point? The only reason I kept going was because I had some bare hope that maybe you were alive somewhere, and that was all that helped me through the— the episodes, and the dreams, and the spells of lethargy that became anxiety. But you're dead. You're fucking dead because of me."

A sob bubbled up, bursting from his mouth, and he clapped his hands over his face, heaving great gasps of air because he couldn't breathe, and there were sharp pangs of pain like hammer strikes against his ribs.

Everything seemed to be crashing down at once.

His whole world.

It had ended the night he'd pushed Eren, and he'd built little pillars out of the mud left behind, but now the mud and clay had cracked, and he was pinned beneath the rubble. Coughing and gasping and crying for help.

He tried to fight the small, dexterous fingers that snaked behind his neck, pulling him close until his face was buried in Historia's shoulder. His sob was garbled as he gripped both her arms, twisting his face away and heaving a deep breath. Her hand cupped the back of his head, gripping his hair and holding him tight.

"S-stop it," Armin mumbled, wriggling and twisting through his great waves of sobs. "Lemme go…"

"Historia says you should calm down and let us hug you," Eren murmured, resting their chin against his head. "I think you should keep screaming. People are so scared of screaming, but I think it's better to scream than to bottle everything up. Let it out."

"I don't…"

"You and Mikasa were the only things that saved me," Eren admitted. He held Armin's head, rocking him gently to and fro. It was a slow, swaying motion that reminded Armin of being on a boat. He felt a wave of nausea. "I mean, for as long as I was alive. Armin, when I was thirteen and I tried to hang myself, I wasn't really conscious of it. But sometimes, after that, I really wanted it all to end. I was scared of everything. I was terrified of living. But you and Mikasa always brought me back from that terror. Always."

Armin's sobs became louder and louder until he could no longer hear himself think.

And then he wasn't sobbing at all.

They sat for a long time, his whole body shaking in small spasms. Eren simply held him. And for a moment, that was enough.

Armin wiped his eyes and hiccupped, pulling back a little. Eren stared at him, his hands dragging toward Armin's cheeks, lifting his head up high.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked.

Armin took a deep, shaky breath. He cut Historia's hands from his cheeks, pushing them away and scooting backwards.

"No," he said firmly.

Eren looked a little dejected for a few moments, but then he smiled, and shrugged. "Yeah, okay, that's fair." He leaned back, resting his weight on his hands. "I guess I have to tell Mikasa about this now, since you're awake."

"Have you just been pretending to be Historia for days?" Armin's voice was hoarse from his sobbing.

"Um, yeah?" Eren spoke incredulously, as if to ask what else he'd be doing. "Mikasa hasn't come to visit me. Historia, I mean. So I haven't gotten to speak to her. I had to talk to Ymir, though. That was weird."

"I'll bet."

"Historia doesn't even remember her." Eren sighed. "I feel bad."

"Is there any way to fix that?" Armin really didn't like the idea of Eren just parading around, pretending to be Historia for weeks. Maybe months! He also didn't like how easy Historia was taking it. She should be angry that some weird ass stranger stole her body! But considering she had no memory, she probably didn't have the will to resist. Which was shitty.

"We can search Kenny's house for whatever he gave her," Eren said, scratching the back of his head. "I heard he's going to be in jail for a little while. Whatever that means."

"Good!" It was a relief to hear, but Armin felt skeptical that it would last. Kenny would be back. And Armin had to be ready. "Oh… shit. Shit!" He bolted up straight, scanning the room with wild eyes. "Where are my clothes?"

"Mikasa probably took them to wash them." Eren glanced at him curiously. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Yeah, Armin." The door had opened, and Armin jolted, sinking deeper into his cot and pulling his covers over his mouth sheepishly. Mikasa stood in the doorway, her dark eyes narrowed dangerously. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," Armin squeaked.

"You better be." Mikasa strode into the room, her foot falls heavy and pronounced. She stopped at the foot of Armin's bed, and she took a deep, shaky breath. "What were you  _thinking_?"

"I don't know…" Armin mumbled. That was the truth. He had trouble recollecting what had even happened, let alone his mindset when sneaking out. All he could really attribute it to was Levi's bad influence.

Eren slipped off the bed quietly and crept toward Mikasa. She eyed him, decided he wasn't worth reprimanding, and then returned her gaze to Armin. Her eyes widened a bit when Eren threw Historia's arms around her, and he buried her face in Mikasa's side.

"Oh!" Mikasa gasped. "Oh hi. Are you okay, Historia?"

Eren gave a muffled reply.

"What…?"

He lifted Historia's head, and he smiled sadly up at her.

"Mikasa," he said, "it's Eren. I possessed Historia."

She stared at him vacantly. Then she shoved Eren off her, whirling around and marching toward the door.

"Mikasa, where are you going?" Eren gasped, sounding very put out.

"Away from you."

"Mikasa, come on!" Historia's face was growing gnarled and red from all the extra strain Eren's myriad of emotions were putting it through. Mikasa paused by the doorway, her shoulders hunched and her eyes flashing. "I had a good reason, you know, I didn't just steal her body without asking!"

"You better have more than just a good explanation, Eren," Mikasa said darkly. "Or else."

"Stop patronizing me," Eren snapped. He blew a piece of blonde hair out of Historia's eyes, and he rolled them back into their head. "Historia's got amnesia right now, and she's literally hopeless. It's better if I take over for now until she gets her memory back. Then I'll be out even if I wanted to stay."

"You're ridiculous."

"I thought you'd be happy!" Eren looked so very confused. "I have a body again! A real corporeal body!"

"It's not  _your_ body." Mikasa shook her head furiously. "So it doesn't matter."

"I'm sorry!" Eren threw his arms out in defeat. "Is that what you wanna hear? Fine! I'm fucking sorry I'm dead!"

"Eren!" Mikasa snapped. Eren looked at her with fiery eyes, long strands of hair falling into Historia's face, scraggly and unkempt. He huffed, tiny shoulders rising and falling sharply. He was so angry, and Armin wanted to shout at him to stop, stop being unreasonable, stop possessing people on a fucking whim, stop, stop, stop, but he couldn't.

Because Eren was right. He was dead, and he had a right to be angry and unreasonable about that fact.

Jean poked his head into the room, his amber eyes glassy and tired. He glanced between the three of them, and he let out a long sigh.

"What the hell is going on now?" he asked flatly.

"Eren possessed Historia," Mikasa replied in the same empty tone.

Jean's eyes shot to Eren, who was standing with Historia's skinny arms folded across her chest and a scowl on the girl's pouty lips.

"That's freaky," he said weakly, his lips twisting back into a sneer of disgust.

"Speak for yourself," Eren spat.

"Eren," Armin warned. His voice was hoarse and his eyelids were drooping. He felt awful. "Can we… please just get back on track? What's your plan?"

"Oh." Eren blinked rapidly, his rage dissipating rapidly. "Right! I'm gonna tattle on Kenny."

"That's insane," Mikasa said. "Who's gonna believe you?"

"No idea," Eren said with a shrug. "Don't really care. I'm going to push Kenny and Reiss into the spotlight. Historia's existence itself is enough to spin some controversy, so that's why I need her to be, you know, not an amnesiac."

"You don't have to be possessing her, though," Mikasa said, shooting Eren a vicious glare.

"It's either this, or I go to sleep for an indefinite amount of time." Eren shot her a glare just as furious, and Armin sunk into his blankets and closed his eyes.

"Please stop screaming…" He groaned, and he touched his forehead gingerly. "Eren… what happened? In the basement, after I passed out? How did I get here…?"

"Huh?" Eren blinked rapidly. "Oh! That was Annie. She found us, and managed to chase Frieda away."

"Who the fuck is Frieda?" Jean gasped, grasping at the air with twitching fingers, irritable and confused. "What the fuck even happened to you guys? Armin, you have a cracked rib, a broken nose, and a nasty concussion, like what went down?"

"Kenny beat me up," Armin said distantly, rubbing his bandaged forehead. He thought about it for a moment. "Oh, that was after I crashed his truck into the river."

"Armin!" Mikasa cried, looking at him with a stern gaze that reminded him of when they'd been younger, and Armin had been roped into one of Eren's more dangerous schemes.

"Yeah, Armin, what the hell?" Jean pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Oh wow," Eren said blankly. Historia's eyes were big and wide. "That explains a lot."

"You're not gonna yell at me too?" Armin eyed Eren suspiciously.

"With your driving? I'm not surprised."

Mikasa seemed to consider it. "You are a pretty bad driver, Armin," she admitted.

He didn't say anything, because he didn't want to show how offended he was.

"So who the fuck is Frieda?" Jean asked.

"Uh…" Eren scratched the back of Historia's head. He didn't seem to know how to manage her hair length, considering he simply let long strands of it gather in front of his face as he spoke, not in any desirable way, but in a scraggly mess. It was clearly knotted and matted, frizzy and limp. Eren's hair had always been naturally soft and wavy and smooth, so he probably had no idea how to deal with someone else's fine, delicate hair. "That's actually a story and a half. Let's wait until Armin's released from the hospital before I get into that."

"Fine." Armin hoped whenever that was, it was soon. "So what about Levi?"

Eren stared at him blankly. "What about Levi?" he asked confusedly.

"Why did he leave Historia for dead?"

"He did  _what_?" Eren's eyes lit up in a blaze, his disgust suddenly smeared across Historia's pretty face.

"Was he being controlled by Kenny?" Jean asked, sounding very bemused and very innocent. Armin shook his head slowly.

Mikasa shifted. She looked uncomfortable, as though perhaps her skin was too tight around her chest, and she was finding it difficult to breathe. Armin watched her fingers lock, twiddling anxiously around each other. He watched and he knew.

"Mikasa," Armin croaked.

She looked at him.

She closed her eyes.

"Levi… he's been visiting me at night again." She glanced at Eren. Her eyes were dim and sad. "He said… he told me that I should let Historia die."

"Burn him," Eren said immediately, Historia's voice eerily empty and bright.

"Chill." Mikasa rubbed her face tiredly. "I'm not going to actually do it, but… I don't really understand why he's so against her all of a sudden."

"Yeah, isn't that kinda weird?" Jean glanced around. "Oh, wait, our entire lives are fucking weird, I forgot. Silly me. Nothing makes any sense. I need to lie down. Someone get me something that'll make me high."

"Why don't you go consult a nurse," Eren told him sharply. Jean shot him a discontented glance, but he said nothing in reply. Eren shifted the mass of Historia's hair out of his face, taking a deep, shaky breath. "Listen, it doesn't matter. Christa— Historia. She made some shitty choices, but she's not a bad person. Levi is wrong. There has to be a way to end this without any one else dying."

"Why would Levi think Historia's death would help anything?" Armin whispered.

Eren glanced at him.

"I have no idea," he said. It was Historia's voice. She sounded like a bird twittering away in a tree, vibrations tingling the air from the stretch of the skin of her throat. And Armin heard that voice, garbled from tears, chiming softly inside his head.

_If you were as smart as you think you are, you'd just let me die!_

Eren turned away. Armin's eyes moved from the crown of Historia's head to the tips of her fingers. The insides of her arms were chalky white, blue veins luminescent beneath papery skin. Dark scars traced a pattern down her forearm. Even strokes marking up a haphazard path toward her skinny fingertips.

 _Everyone would be so much better off_ …

Armin bit his tongue.

 _You're lying_ , he thought at Eren bitterly.  _You're lying to me again._

He plucked at the intravenous drip that dug into his arm. He swallowed his accusation with a shaky smile.


	22. Chapter 22

**the girl who does not know herself**

"Did you hear that?"

From the curtain of trees, somewhere in the close distance, the vicious din of a construction site beat at Eren's ears. He was not sure why the sound turned his attention so suddenly, why he even cared that there was construction sounds deep in the bowels of the forest, but he knew that it didn't sit right with him. And when something didn't sit right with Eren Jaeger, he was gonna fucking do something about it.

"What?" Armin asked, turning about, his hair curly around his cheeks due to perspiration and the unyielding wind. He'd been striding forward, trying to keep Eren on track so he'd be home in time for his piano lesson. Like it'd work.

"I…" Eren listened. The sound was still there, but so faint, so very faint, and he had to wonder if he was simply dreaming it up. "Crap, I dunno." He listened harder, his face screwing up in concentration. "It sounded like, um…" He gritted his teeth. What did it sound like? Construction noise. But what, specifically? He snapped his fingers impatiently, trying to jog his memory for the right power tool involved. "A… jackhammer? I dunno…"

"A jackhammer?" Armin sounded curious, his interest piqued as he turned his ear toward the wind, and then grimaced. "No, I don't hear it."

"Huh…" He turned his head back toward the sky, letting the wind beat at his back. "Maybe I'm wrong…"

The wind was whistling, carrying the tune of its current alongside the cacophony of concrete cracking. Eren blinked rapidly, knowing full well that this was a sound coming from close by, and that they must have passed it somewhere along the way. It made him angry that he hadn't noticed earlier.

"Yeah, maybe—"

Eren broke into a sprint, leaving all his sense behind him as he kicked through the tangled underbrush, fighting against the push of the wind.

"Hey, Eren! Come on!" Armin sounded annoyed, but not so much distressed.

"I'm just gonna check it out for a sec, kay?" Eren continued to sprint until he was running, running into the wind and letting his eyes dart where his ears pricked up, picking up the discordant crash from the path he and Armin had taken earlier.

"A sec." Armin sounded breathless and frustrated. Already miles away. "You think I actually believe that…? Eren!"

"One sec!" Eren called back to him without looking, too engrossed in his own agenda to be sure that Armin wasn't cursing his name into oblivion for being such a terrible friend. Whatever, he'd get over it! He always did. And it wasn't like Eren was being unreasonable He was just curious! Armin had to understand that, it was  _Armin_.

He ran through the forest, the wind beating at his face and whistling sharply through the creaky branches. The underbrush was still green, but there were yellowing skeletons of little vines that snaked across the beaten ground, dead leaves folding up above and beneath and around the fallen tree limbs.

The noise grew louder and louder until Eren was swimming in the jarring, maddening sound of something beating at concrete incessantly until it was chipped away into dust. He was breathing heavily, soft puffs of breath falling from his lips as he jogged to a stop, hugging a tree for both support and for cover. His cheek brushed against the coarse ridges of the bark as he leaned forward, peering at the old shed curiously. It was so discolored and washed out, decaying from years and years of wearing out from the natural elements, and yet somehow it stood. And it screamed.

They'd only just passed by this place, and a few minutes ago it had been utterly silent. But now it made an unholy nose, chattering of a destructive sort playing in the backdrop to Eren's quick, uneven breaths. He thumbed the ridges of the tree, wondering if he should head back to get Armin, so that he wouldn't be alone in investigating such an oddity.

But the noise was making Eren think not in a level manner, but in a frenzy, like there was something that needed to be done, something only he could do, that he had to do it now, that it was not a choice but a duty, and so he moved from the safety of the tree, his fingers drifting from the uneven surface and reaching back, as though his body was moving on its own accord, and his mind was pleading for him to go back, go back, go back.

Go back? To what? To what purpose would that serve?

Eren wasn't afraid of anything!

He stood outside the shed, frowning at its shabby exterior. The sound was beating holes into his brain now, and he wanted it to fucking stop. His teeth were grinding against each other, his jaw aching from the effort, and he clamped his hands over his ears, feeling that something was terribly wrong here, terribly wrong, terribly, terribly, terrible. His fingernails dug deep into his scalp as his head tilted from side to side to side. He felt a rush of cool air, and a sudden despairing giddiness, his heart pulling him away from his mind and his mind whispering how this was all for the best, for the best, for the best, wasn't that right? For the best?

His feet were scraping against the ground, bare and soft and small and bony, and he could taste the mist of the waterfall, and he could feel his heart hammering in his throat, hear it in his ears, a jackhammer that needed to be shut off, just to make it all stop, for everything to stop, and that was for the best, wasn't it? For the best?

His eyes were wet and his hair was tangling beneath his fingers, soft and tumbling as he clawed blood out of his scalp and laughed and laughed and laughed, and it would have been better if he could have just ended it all right here, right now, but no, it had to be difficult! Well there was no matter, no matter, no matter at all, because he'd be back, and little children couldn't last long against demons no matter how much they tried to run away from it all. How many people would die, he wondered vacantly, for the best?

He shook his head furiously, a rasping little shout pried from his lips as he toppled onto his back, dragged by the claws of the corporeal wind, cold and lethal, away from the awful shed with its awful purpose.

Eren didn't understand.

He was lying on the forest floor, gasping and choking on his own saliva, tears stinging his eyes, and he didn't understand at all.

What had just happened?

He was so cold, his knees wobbled and his fingers trembled and his lips quivered and his shoulders shook, and he couldn't find a way to get that hammering out of his head, the sound of a heartbeat that needed to be stopped  _no matter what_ , because that—

That was simply for the best.

Somehow, though, as he sat in the tangle of twigs and leaves and underbrush, the jackhammer did stop. He found himself struggling to sit up, his busted, scabby knees knocking against each other as he scrambled back, slow at first but then frantically, his heart beating hard against his ribs as his fingernails clawed at the dirt and his body skittered away from the shed as fast and sure as it possibly could in such a quaky state.

Somebody had heard him shout.

 _Run, little boy_ , the wind whispered its shivery song down his neck, raising all the hairs on his body until they stood on end.  _Run, run, run, don't you know your time here is almost done?_

He wanted the wind to disappear, with all the air in all the world with it.

Somebody inside the shed had heard him shout. The air was still and the wind was whispering.

Heavy footsteps creaked against aging wood.

Eren would make whoever it was pay.

How? How did he plan on doing that?

Who the fuck cared. It was what had to be done.

For the best.

As he pushed himself shakily onto his knees, glowering up at the terrible shed, he heard it.

It sent a shock startling through him.

A tiny voice that echoed like a thunder clap and sent him jerking to his feet and pivoting, springing into a mad marathon run, beating through the trees like a dog gone rabid.

" _EREN_!"

It sunk into him like hooks beneath his skin.

He ran so fast that he'd left the hammer and the wind and the sensation of falling, falling, falling into a sweet, sweet absolute  _agony._

He could not properly understand what had just happened to him, and he didn't actually give a fuck.

He broke through the trees, skidding into the road and not even concerning himself with the car that had swerved across the asphalt, crying out in terror, "Armin!" He was tripping over himself, his throat constricting and his heart ready to explode. His head was all mushy and his limbs felt like jello. He stumbled and grabbed Armin by the arms, gripping them tightly. "Are you okay?" Armin was crying, and it made Eren want to cry too, but it mostly made Eren want to scream and collapse from exhaustion. "Are you okay? What the heck happened I was just—! I wasn't even gone that long, what… the heck…" He didn't know. He didn't know. He didn't know! "Armin? Armin?"  _Help me, help me, help me_. Eren gripped Armin's bloody hands and held them tight, begging him to hear a plea he didn't understand himself. "Can you get up? I'm gonna take you home. Okay? Okay?"

Eren's anger spiked.

Okay, okay, okay, okay.

He was okay.

He was just fucking fine.

Everything was fucking fine.

* * *

"I feel like my head is filled up with stuffing," Armin moaned as he collapsed at the kitchen table. They'd been released from the hospital, but Armin's injuries were still… pretty damn bad. His face was practically one big bruise, his eyes squinty and swollen, his lips purplish and patchy red with popped blood vessels, and there were numerous cuts sewn up on his forehead and cheek and chin. Not to mention the bruises from Levi's nasty little visit were still healing, so beneath the fresh mauve skin molding away on Armin's face there was a great, fat yellow mark stretching the expanse of his cheek.

Also the pain meds were not working right.

"Well maybe if you didn't run off by yourself in the middle of the night," Jean quipped in a cheerlessly bright voice, "these things wouldn't happen to you!"

He slid a bottle of ibprofen toward Armin, and Armin did not lift his head from its cramping position against the table as he reached blindly for the bottle.

"Armin you  _cannot_  do this anymore." Mikasa yanked out a seat beside Armin and sat down, staring at him intently. It made his insides feel squirmy with guilt. He lifted his head to pop a few pills into his mouth, and he tilted it back while shooting her a tired glance. "You definitely could have died! Why would you even listen to Levi? You know Kenny controls him!"

"So do you," Armin said hoarsely, "and you still let him creep into your room at night and talk to you. You don't even tell us what he says."

"He's my family," Mikasa said stiffly. "I can deal with him on my own."

"Bullshit!"

"Yeah, Mikasa, he has a point." Jean rolled his eyes. "As much as it pains me. Levi is bad news regardless. We need to stop taking him so lightly, when he's clearly fucked us over more times than I can count!"

"Levi is an asshole." Mikasa rested her hands on the table, her feathery hair shielding her face from view. "Even if sometimes he means well. He's still an asshole. And… he's still my cousin." She sighed, sinking lower into her chair. "I've been with him for years and years, and… I don't know. I don't know what life would be like without him here."

"Um," Jean remarked coldly, "probably a lot saner."

Armin nodded in agreement. Mikasa merely scratched her brow and pressed her lips together thinly.

"Okay," Jean said, "so three ghosts. Levi and Eren, who were killed in that weird ass ritual thing, and… Frieda…?" Jean shot an inquisitive look at Armin, who nodded. "The bitch who dragged me down into the basement."

"I saw her," Armin murmured, rubbing his stuffy head and sighing. "She was terrifying. The most terrifying ghost I've ever seen."

"Which must be saying a lot since you've seen all of three." Jean shot Armin a shit eating grin, and Armin let his head drop back onto the table, letting out a long, exhausted groan.

"We still need to figure out how Eren's plan is going to work." Mikasa rested her cheek against her fist and closed her eyes. "Armin?"

"What?"

She poked him.

"What?"

She poked him again.

He lifted his head and shot her an irritated glare. " _What_?"

"Don't you have any ideas?" she asked innocently.

He exhaled sharply and leaned back in his chair. Ah. So it came to this. Asking him for advice when he did not in fact have any to give. It was a low blow. Quite crushing, really. He had no idea what to do.

"Well," he admitted, glancing up at the ceiling somberly, "Levi and I were planning on freeing him from Kenny's control and then using my body to murder him, but…"

"Excuse me?" Jean slammed both his palms onto the table, his voice a high squeak. "Back the fuck up!"

Mikasa had bolted upright, twisting in her seat to fully face Armin. Her eyes were wild with terror.

"Absolutely not." Her voice was clipped and breathless. "No. No way!" She grabbed him by the shoulders and searched his face wildly. "Armin. Armin, what were you thinking? What were you trying to  _do_?"

"Killing Kenny would eliminate the need for you to be sacrificed!" Armin stared back into her gray eyes, finding himself shaken with guilt and despair. "Mikasa, I don't care what happens to me. I just want you to be safe."

"You can't just throw your life away like that, Armin," she whispered, her shoulders sinking. "I need you. I need you, okay?"

"No you don't," he laughed. He pushed her hands from her shoulders and turned away from her. "I've been nothing but a burden since the day I killed Eren. I need to fix that."

"You're not a burden." Mikasa sounded angry, her voice shaky and thin. "I chose not to tell you, to let you suppress the memory, and that… that was a mistake. Armin, I don't want to die, but I don't want you to get hurt or to go to jail because of me!"

"Can we not?" Armin asked her weakly.

"Can we not  _what_?" She twisted around, her fingernails clawing at the table impatiently. "Fine! Fine. Let's just  _not_."

"That's probably not the best idea." Jean glanced between them helplessly. "You guys know how bad it is when we don't communicate."

"Jean." Armin shook his head furiously. "No. Not the time."

"You want to kill a fucking maniac, and you didn't even ask our opinion first!" Jean threw his hands up in the air. "Sorry, man, I didn't realize your top secret plans were a one man gig! Also, have you actually finished your capstone? Just curious!"

"Oh boy…" Armin moaned, burying his face in his hands and then yelping when he bumped against a sensitive bruise. "Ow…"

"Are you okay, Armin?"

They all jumped up, Armin skittering out of his chair and leaping to his feet at the sound of Historia's voice. She was standing in the kitchen doorway, her hair dripping wet and Armin's clothing ill fitting on her tiny frame. They all stared at her vacantly, and she stared back with cloudy eyes.

"Wait, did you shower in her body?" Jean asked with a sneer of disgust. "You creep!"

"You should be less preoccupied with my body and more on the trouble at hand," they said flatly, shooting Jean a cool stare. "Don't test me, Jean."

"It's not your body though," Mikasa murmured, sounding very bitter.

"Permission is permission," Historia said with a shrug. Her bare feet padded against the tile floor, and she looked confused. "Can I get some water?"

"You should say please, Historia," a bright voice chirped from behind Jean's head. They all turned sharply, staring at Eren with varying degrees of shock and confusion.

"I don't have to listen to you," Historia told Eren matter-of-factly. Eren barked a laugh and appeared by her side. She was smiling dimly.

"That was great!" Eren laughed, clapping his hand against his chest. "You guys had priceless expressions!"

"Why did you let us think you were her?" Armin gasped, feeling a little queasy.

"Because," he said, his laughter dying with a sharp, furious glare. "I knew you guys would think I bathe for Historia. I might walk around in her body, but she's still there. And I would never do that to her. Or  _anybody_."

"Cool." Historia offered Eren a high five, and Eren's eyes brightened considerably. He tried to smack her hand, but his arm ended up just going right through hers.

"Oh," he said vacantly, pulling back his intangible arm. "Whoops?"

"It's okay." Historia flexed her fingers thoughtfully. "I forgot."

"So like, do you remember now, or something?" Jean asked cautiously. Historia glanced at him, and she shook her head. Jean collapsed into his chair and threw up his hands in defeat. "I don't understand anything anymore."

"Nobody understands anything, keep up, Jean!" Eren snapped his fingers in mock impatience. He seemed happy.

Armin was suddenly not so dejected. He found himself smiling.

"Historia," Mikasa said gently, seeming to relax quite a bit now that she knew Eren was out of the girl's body. "You must be confused. Do you have any questions for us?"

"Uh…" She looked taken aback. "What kind of questions?"

"Like why you're being possessed by a ghost, you got your memory erased, and you almost died?" Jean waved his hand emphatically. "Shit like that!"

"Oh!" Historia's voice was very small and distant. "Well, I got possessed because Eren asked me if he could do it, and I said yes because I didn't really know what else to do. He was the one who told me that the Kenny man, he gave me some drug that give people temporary amnesia, so I get that. And as for almost dying—?" She laughed brightly. "I don't really care much about that."

"You…" Jean pressed a hand to his forehead. "You almost died though. You were hanging! From a  _rope_! Armin, back me up!"

"You should care more about your life, Historia," Armin told her gently.

"Like you care about yours?" she shot at him with a biting smile.

"Hoo," Jean exhaled, clapping his hand over his mouth. He was grinning. "Oh shit!"

"Chill," Eren snapped at Jean. Then he looked sharply at Armin. "She's right."

"I don't need you to lecture me about caring about my life," Armin laughed shakily, leaning back. He struggled to find his seat, but when he did, he plopped down.

"Are we really at this again?" Eren groaned. "Stop making me apologize for dying! It happened! Fuck everything, okay? I wish I was still alive, but I'm not, and the fact that it was for the best  _isn't going to change_!"

"Everyone shut up." Mikasa was rubbing her temples. Armin didn't want to be the target of her wrath, so he clenched his jaw shut and closed his eyes. Maybe if he did that, the storm would pass over him. "We need actual strategies to get around Levi, Frieda, and Kenny. Does anyone know how we're going to do that?"

"Why would we get around them?" Eren folded his arms across his chest. "Kenny is the problem!"

"And he's in jail," Armin offered weakly.

"Yes, but not for long." Mikasa's voice was low and dangerous. They all could sense how serious this was, how terrifying this was going to get, but it wasn't really sinking in. Armin didn't feel like he was in any immediate danger. He didn't feel like he needed to be scared.

"Eren's plan is to prove Kenny murdered Levi  _before_  he gets out of jail," Historia said calmly, shooting a curious glance around the room. "Does anyone know how to actually do that?"

"Oh!" Armin bounced upright, his eyes brightening. "I have a tooth that I snagged from around Kenny's neck!" He turned to Mikasa, his gaze quick and inquisitive. "If I gave it to Hange, she could test the DNA against the knife I… stole…" He glanced at Historia, who was listening intently, a guileless look in her eyes. She had no idea, of course. "Oh. Shit. Eren, if we do this, Historia might be implicated."

"She'd be a witness," Eren said blankly.

"She withheld evidence and aided in the murder…"

"I… did…?" Historia took a step back. Eren shot her a quick, horrified glance, and he shook his head furiously.

" _No_ ," he snapped. "You didn't. It was completely against your will, and you shouldn't be held accountable for it."

Historia's eyes were darting helplessly around the room, and the more they looked at her, the more she seemed to shrink, a small little girl falling into a corner and getting crushed by despair.

"But…" Historia's back bumped against a wall, and Armin could see guilt stretched across her face, spreading cracks where a carefully laid mask had been once. She was very much Historia Reiss in her purest form. Wiped of all traces of the lies and lies and lies she'd thrived upon to create Christa Lenz, merely living a blissfully ignorant little existence without any idea how truly terrible her life had been.

"Historia," Eren said firmly. "When I asked to possess you, I told you I was going to help you. I wasn't lying, okay? I'm going to help you even if it kills me. Again."

She didn't smile. She didn't laugh. She furrowed her brow and pursed her lips, and she shook her head slowly.

"The only person going to prison is Kenny!" Eren whirled around to look at all of them, and Armin felt the pure force of his fury as his face twisted, his visage flickering and paling and bloodying up as he sucked the air out of the room and stole their breaths away. "I will personally stop the heart of anyone who tries to accuse anyone else of murder! Is that fucking clear?"

"Crystal," Jean said thickly. Under his breath he muttered something about how crazy Eren was, and Armin kicked him under the table.

"That makes things a little more difficult," Armin said softly. Eren looked down at him, and he flickered again, appearing at Armin's side. "Um… well, Eren, your plan was to use Historia to accuse Kenny, but that raises the question of why she was there in the first place. From what I remember, she didn't personally hurt Levi, but she didn't help him either."

"She was like, eight," Eren scoffed, blood glistening on his cheek as he jerking his chin in disgust. "She couldn't have fought off a fully grown man, especially not Kenny! Armin, we tried fighting Kenny when we were kids, remember? He was fucking relentless."

Armin couldn't deny that. But still, he knew that justice would not come easy, not if they wanted to save Historia. He licked his lips, the metallic bite of his busted mouth tingling on his tongue, and he thought about Kenny's long, spindly fingers choking the life out of him.

"Maybe… maybe it could work…" Armin took a deep breath. "Okay, we need more than just a knife and a tooth. Levi said there were more body parts that Kenny stole in the house—"

"Are you kidding?" Jean's eyes were wide and his lips twisted in disgust. "What a creep! He just stole parts of his kid's body after he effectively butchered him?"

"Yes." Armin closed his eyes. "That's how he's controlling Levi. It's part of the haunting aspect, but because Kenny was the one that killed him, and it was… ritualistic?" He offered a wane smile. "I don't really know the details. But if it's magic, then Kenny knows how to use it, and those stray body parts are key to getting Levi out of his hands  _and_  linking him to the murder."

"Trophies…" Mikasa murmured. Her eyes widened. "Armin. That might actually work."

"I can call Annie," Armin said eagerly, glancing up at Eren, "and tell her to search Kenny's house for evidence. Maybe I'll drop off the tooth before then, though, just so we know they'll find something."

"I'll do it," Eren said. He smiled sheepishly. "I have enough energy now, I think. At the very least I can do this, and then maybe sleep for a few hours."

"That sounds too dangerous." Armin shook his head. "I can do it—"

"If someone sees you breaking into Kenny's house to plant evidence, this entire plan gets ruined," Jean pointed out. Armin grimaced. He didn't like it when Jean made good points, because it made him regret not telling him sooner.

"I can do it," Eren said brightly. "Let me do it! I can finally hold and touch things, like I'm more corporeal and stuff now, so I might as well use that to my advantage, right?"

"Yes," Jean agreed. Armin felt as though someone had burned him. With a hot iron. Like someone had just stuck it right down his throat, because he made a choking scoff, shooting a quick glance between his two friends and finding himself at a loss. "You're definitely the only person here who can plant the evidence without getting caught. It sucks that you're so weak, though."

"Wow." Eren rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry I'm not unwillingly bound to my murderer, Jean. Like, honestly!" His mouth opened to reveal a frightening little grin, his teeth wet and gleaming. "Wouldn't everything just be so much better if I was mindlessly forced to do Armin's bidding? Wouldn't your lives just suck so much less?"

"Jeez!" Jean grimaced, his eyes averting shamefully. "God, yeah! Point taken! Can you quit the sarcasm?"

"Not to liken you to a murderer," Eren said blankly as an afterthought. He was speaking to Armin, but he wasn't really looking at him. It was an absent statement, which did not make Armin feel good at all. "That was actually not really fair. Um…" Eren suddenly swooped down and caught Armin by the mouth. Armin was startled, his bruised lips suddenly erupting in pain from the pressure, which was far more than the last time Eren had kissed him, or the time before that. Armin could feel Eren hovering over him like a cold shadow, his lips cold and firm as they effectively stole Armin's breath from his throat and cooled the sputtering fire of guilt that had sparked inside his chest.

Armin wasn't sure how long the kiss had lasted, but it felt like both an eternity and a fraction of a second. When Eren pulled back, he merely moved his head and pressed his lips agonizingly close to Armin's ear.

"Sorry." It was a small, whispery voice. It was filled with guilt and sadness, but also, in some odd little way, it exuded joy.

Eren disappeared, leaving the room cold and empty.

Armin sat in his chair, his throat tight and his eyes watery, and he listened to his out sharp, shaky exhale, feeling distanced from his own body, an observer taking note of how skinny limbs shook and how tears electrified bruised flesh.

He jumped as Mikasa knelt before him, taking his face in her hands and dashing away his tears. Somehow she managed not to disturb his bruises, and he turned his eyes away from her guiltily.

"Um…" Jean's voice was a little high from shock. "Okay. So, anyway…"

"Mm…" Historia turned her head. "There's someone at the door."

They all looked at her.

A sudden knocking shook the house, and they sat very still.

Historia stood with her gauzy eyes and stringy hair, and she shrugged. "I heard the stairs squeaking," she said.

"Creepy," Jean murmured, standing up. "I'll get it. Mikasa, um… stay with Armin?"

She shot him a thumbs up. She did not tear her eyes from Armin's.

"I'll go with you," Historia said vacantly, following Jean out of the room.

Armin bowed his head, and he took a deep, shaky breath.

"Mikasa…" he whispered.

"You and Eren are the most important things in the entire world to me," she said quietly. She smoothed back his hair and kissed his forehead. A shiver ran down his spine. "Eren's loved you far longer than he's even known me. I don't want you to be sad, or… guilty, I guess, that he's showing his love a little differently now. It doesn't matter to me."

Armin sunk into his seat and melted into her touch. "I don't know what to do," he murmured, swallowing thickly. "I don't want him to ever go away, but I know that… he'd be so much better off…"

"I know." Mikasa sighed. "God, do I know…"

Armin sniffled. He felt silly for crying over what felt like nothing and what felt like everything, and it made him nauseous, honestly.

They heard voices drifting from the living room. There was a very deep voice that Armin didn't recognize at first. And then, with a start, he did.

"Oh!" He jumped up out of his chair and grabbed Mikasa by the arm, helping her to her feet. "Oh! Shit, oh no."

Armin skidded into the living room, and Erwin Smith raised his head, smiling knowingly.

"Hello, Armin," he said. He placed a hand on Historia's head, and she looked a little frazzled, but did not object. "You remember me, don't you?"

"Erwin," he gasped, running a hand through his hair. "Oh my god. Shit, I forgot."

"Don't beat yourself up over it." Erwin moved with a quick, brisk gait, sitting down on one of the chairs and folding one leg so his ankle rested against his knee. "From the looks of it you've had far more pressing things to worry about than our deal."

"You made a deal with this guy?" Jean asked flatly. "Armin, please. Tell me when you went fucking nuts."

"I'm pretty sure you know the answer to that, Jean," Armin said, letting a touch of faux sweetness drip into his tone.

"Aha, right…" Jean glanced down at Historia, who was watching Erwin bemusedly. "Well, uh,  _Erwin_  here seems to know Historia."

"Yes." Erwin looked at Historia, and there was something in his eyes. A twinge of sadness. "I've been looking for her for days. Her girlfriend told me that she finally turned up, and that I could find her here."

"Why were you looking for me?" Historia asked cautiously.

"I was worried about you," Erwin said, sounding very earnest, but it still caused Historia to move very cautiously behind Mikasa. Erwin noticed. "Ah. Is this about our last meeting? I'm sorry, Historia, but I meant what I said. I have no interest in telling your father anything, especially not about you."

"My… father…" Historia, as confused as she was, did not seem keen on letting her weakness show. "Okay. Fine. Good. You're forgiven. Now wait, what about my girlfriend?"

"Ymir?" Erwin tilted his head.

"Yes." Historia nodded firmly. "Her. Is she okay?"

"She's perfectly fine. Worried, of course, but fine. Why?" Erwin glanced between them all, and Armin could feel chilly suspicion coiling up around him. "What's wrong, Historia?"

"I…" She scratched her cheek with her bandaged hand, and she took a step back. "I'm sorry. I'm really tired. I should go lie down."

"Is this about Frieda?"

They all looked at him sharply. The situation was already tense, but Erwin's words and empty smile only seemed to make the air grow stale and blood start to boil.

"What do you know about Frieda?" Historia asked sharply, rounding Mikasa and staring at the man intently.

"That's an odd question." Erwin folded his hands in his lap. "I knew her when we were both quite young, before she died. You know that she came here visiting me, don't you?"

"She came here…?" Historia pushed her drying, unruly hair from her eyes, and she glanced at Armin hopelessly. She had no idea what anything meant, and he pitied her, because they were no better off. "You two were… friends…?"

"Ah, more or less." Erwin offered a shrug. "She hated me. But she thought I was useful, so she kept me around. She was very resourceful."

"So why'd she come visit you?" Jean asked, frowning at the man. He was clearly very suspicious, and not even remotely ready to trust a word Erwin said.

"She didn't really come here for me," he admitted. "She just used me as a cover. An excuse. What she really wanted was to go to Titan's Maw."

The hairs on Armin's arms stood on end, and he could feel damp, icy fingers crawl against his skin. He swayed dizzily.

"She came here to kill herself," Armin breathed.

"Ah." Erwin smiled grimly at Armin. "There we are."

"But— why?" Mikasa gasped, staring at Erwin intently.

"Oh, I haven't a clue!" Erwin leaned back in his seat. "It was a strange year. First Frieda killed herself, and then Levi went missing. I suppose I felt a little cursed."

"Wait," Armin gasped, hurrying to the couch across from Erwin's chair. He sat down, and he leaned forward very intently. "Wait! Okay, back up. Frieda and Levi died the same year?"

"It was a close period of time, yes."

Historia was very quiet. She twiddled her thumbs anxiously, staring at Erwin with her swollen, hazy eyes, and she sighed.

"I'll be honest," she said, growing wide eyed, "I have no idea who you are or who Frieda even was, really. I just don't remember that well."

Erwin stared at her. He sat up pin straight, his eyes flashing warily. "You don't remember who you are?" he asked. His voice was low and clipped.

That was when Armin remembered that Erwin knew exactly what Kenny had done to Levi.

"I—"

Armin cut in quickly. "It was Kenny!" He watched Erwin's face, how his expression hardened and his jaw jumped. "He kidnapped Historia and did something to her. He made her forget who she was."

"That sounds like him." Erwin exhaled sharply through his nostrils. He looked up at Historia, and his eyes seemed to soften a little. "Are you alright? Was he the one who hurt you?"

Historia looked down at her bandaged hand, thumbing the tightly wrapped linen, and she offered a meager shrug.

"I don't remember," she said earnestly.

"Kenny's in jail right now," Armin told Erwin.

"I heard." Erwin gave a slight smirk, and he cocked his head at Armin. "How did you manage that, I wonder?"

"Oh, I just let him beat me up in front of a cop." Armin laughed nervously. "And, um… I crashed his truck in the river. And made it look like he was drunk driving."

"Impressive," Erwin remarked, his thick eyebrows rising.

"Christ, Armin," Jean muttered. "You really are crazy."

"Let me admit something." Erwin nodded to Historia, and then to Armin. "Kenny used to do something to Levi to make him forget who he was. He'd periodically wipe his mind and cause him to become rather empty and helpless."

"I remember that," Mikasa said, drifting closer to Erwin's chair. "Um… I don't know if you remember me—"

"Of course I do, Mikasa." Erwin gave her a small smile. "I couldn't forget you. It seemed like you were the only thing that ever gave Levi any joy."

Mikasa's eyes widened, and Armin could see her cheeks tinge pink in embarrassment. She looked away from the man sharply.

"Um… Erwin, we've come to the conclusion that… that Kenny killed Levi." Armin looked the man in the eye as he spoke, feeling guilty for being the bearer of such bad news.

"I heard." Erwin nodded, surprising Armin. "I've been suspecting Kenny of it for years. I suppose all we need is proof aside from the murder weapon, which frankly isn't very useful after fourteen years."

"We're working on that," Jean said coolly. "Where did you hear it from, anyway?"

"Hange." Erwin offered a quick, knowing smirk. "They are a friend of mine, after all."

"Oh." That made sense. "So wait, why—?"

"Shh." Erwin had perked up. His eyes moved slowly around the room, raking the surface of the old couches and the television and the dusty table, where the small box Mikasa had retrieved from Eren's room sat. They all stopped to listen. Armin didn't hear anything at first. And then, with a sudden rush of terror, he heard it.

The small sound of fingers scraping across the inside of a wall.

"Oh not again," he hissed, jumping to his feet.

"What is that?" Erwin was somehow following the noise with his eyes. It was eerie.

"Bad news," Jean said bitterly. "That's what that is."

"Mikasa," Armin gasped, moving quickly to grab Historia by the shoulders. "Get Historia out of here. Out of the house, maybe back to her apartment? Ymir seems like her safest option."

"I don't want to go," Historia gasped, digging her heels into the floor as Armin pushed her toward Mikasa. "I want to help you!"

"You're in danger!"

"Of course I am," she snapped, pushing him back and stomping on his foot. He yelped and stumbled back into the couch. "I feel like everyone and everything wants me dead, and I want to know why!"

"Uh…" Jean said in a small, weak little voice. "Maybe you should ask him yourself…"

Armin followed Jean's gaze. Peering over the edge of the table, a tiny, gaunt little boy was sitting. Only his eyes and knotted, mangled hair were visible. They were big, hollow pits in the sunken skin of his skull. Erwin was staring, still sitting in his chair, perfectly still and perfectly stoic.

Mikasa took Historia's hand and pulled her very slowly behind her back. She kept holding it as she hovered protectively over their tiny friend.

"You can't have her," Mikasa said firmly. "Go away."

Levi's small, skeletal fingers twitched upward, quick as a centipede's. They crawled across the surface of the wood. They were reaching for something.

"What is he doing?" Jean whispered.

Levi's entire little body drew up on the table in a crouch. His skinny arms reached.

He snatched the box from the table and disappeared.

"Oh my," Erwin said flatly.

"You just saw a fucking ghost, and all you have to say is—" Jean batted his eye lashes and raised his voice to a jittery falsetto, " _oh my_!"

Erwin chose to ignore him. "Where did he go?" he asked, turning his head about the room. "He must still be in the house, yes?"

"Probably…?" Armin pressed his lips together thinly. "Erwin… that was Levi."

"I assumed." Erwin stood up. He flattened the wrinkles out from his pants, and he reached into the pocket of the inside of his blazer. "Levi? Come on out."

"He's a ghost," Jean reminded, "not a dog."

"What was in that box?" Erwin asked Armin pointedly. "He seemed very eager to get at it."

"We… couldn't open it," he admitted. "It was locked."

"Not for long," Mikasa said darkly. She moved forward slowly, her eyes roving around the room. They were all searching for something they could not see.

There was a rather large thunk beside Erwin's chair. They peered over at it, and saw that the box had fallen somehow, as if from some height, open onto its side. Newspaper clippings spilled out of it like they were internal organs strewn across the floor. Armin moved closer, and Erwin bent down before it. He picked up a clipping with Levi's unsmiling school photo attached to it.

"Charming," he remarked.

It was an obituary.

A soft, breathless shout caught their attention, and they all whirled around. The sound of choking filled the air, garbled and weak and scraping at the floor and at the walls like tiny fingers reaching and reaching and reaching without any firm grasp. Historia's fingers did the same, grappling at the chain around her throat, her eyes bulging out of their swollen sockets.

Levi stood behind her, wrangling the golden chain around her neck and twisting it into her skin. He was taller than her by a few inches, his face long and pale and empty of all emotion as he watched her struggle against his strength.

"Stop," Mikasa gasped, stumbling forward. "Stop it! What are you doing?" Levi did not look at her. He simply yanked the chain tighter. Historia buckled, her bare feet squeaking against the wooden floor, and she tried to kick him, but her leg merely slipped through the air ineffectively. She could not fight a ghost. "Levi!"

Armin didn't know what to do. All the other times he'd faced off against Levi, it had been when he was a ghostly child. But now he was standing as an adult, strangling one of his friends to death with a chain, and for what? For what purpose?

"Let Historia go…" Armin said, his voice small and shaky. "Please… please, Levi, she doesn't have to die!"

"Yes she does." His voice was as empty as his eyes. "She needs to. She knew that. It's for the best."

"No!" Armin's eyes filled with tears. "No, no, no! That isn't true, it can't be for the best if she's dead!"

"Levi," Erwin said sharply.

Levi's eyes moved. He stared at Erwin for a moment.

"Oh," he said in a dull voice. "You."

"Oh my god," Armin murmured, as Historia's hands fell limply at her side.

"Please let that girl go," Erwin said carefully. "She's very important to me."

Levi's head fell slightly to the side. He seemed a little dazed. He slackened his grip on her, and as she fell forward, barking a cough as tears welled up in her eyes, he caught her in a headlock.

"You don't understand." Levi clenched the chain in his fist, and he dangled it up in the air. A locket hung from his pallid fingers. "I… need to finish this. If she dies, then I'm free." He readjusted his grip on Historia as she started to wriggle. "We're  _all_  free. It has to be worth it."

"I don't know what happened to you, Levi," Erwin said very cautiously, "but I don't think you want this."

Levi's head moved from side to side, as if there was a ringing in his ears that he was trying to shake out. "All I want…" he breathed, "is to get some fucking sleep…"

"Please stop…" Historia rasped, clawing at the arm around her throat.

"Stop?" Levi stared at her. He rattled the chain in front of her eyes, and she squeezed her eyes shut, tears wetting her lashes. "Look at that. Look at this. It's yours. Remember? Remember, you were there?"

"I don't…" She twisted her face.

"Look at it."

It snapped open, and Armin jumped as something fell from inside it, clattering against the floor at Historia's feet.

"I…" Historia's eyes opened, and she glanced at the open locket. "I-I don't know! It's all… bloody! I don't—!"

"My blood." It swung limply from Levi's fist. "My death. My torture— for what? To tie me to you? How pathetic."

"Levi." Erwin's voice was a stern warning. "Stop blaming her for what Kenny did."

"Do you remember me screaming," Levi whispered, leaning closer to Historia's ear. "Do you even know what it was all for?"

"No," she coughed, kicking feebly. "No, I don't remember… I don't know! I don't remember anything, I—!" Her eyes widened. A drop of blood had fallen against her forehead.

Levi's body had turned until a bloody mass of streaming gashes, starting from his head and seeping out from his arms and torso and legs. He'd been bled out. Stabbed, bled out, stabbed, bled out, and the open wounds were gaping at them all. He tightened his arm around Historia's neck and she began to choke again.

"Levi," Armin gasped, "she really doesn't remember! Kenny erased her memory the same way he used to erase yours!"

Levi paused. He raised his eyes to Armin, dull and hollow and surrounded by crimson stained skin. Something seemed to spark there. Empathy.

He closed his eyes. He gritted his teeth, and he threw Historia to the ground.

Armin and Mikasa ran to help her sit up as she coughed violently, gripping both their arms and clutching them for dear life. She wheezed a little, and shot Levi a tearful glare.

He backed away from them. His spine bumped against a wall, and he flickered feebly.

"You're a monster," Jean spat at him.

Levi did not look at him. He slid down the wall until he could sit down on the floor, and he plucked up whatever had fallen from the locket and rolled it over in his hand.

"Yes," he said.

"You should get the hell out of here," Jean hissed. "Nobody wants you hanging around, scaring the shit out of us. Trying to kill us!"

"I'm not here by choice, you dumbass." Levi closed his fist around the small, white little chip he'd picked up. Armin suspected he knew what it was. "I can't leave."

"Levi," Erwin said, striding up to the ghostly man. Levi did not bother looking up at him, so Erwin knelt down instead. "I'm not sure what's going on here, but I'd appreciate it if you explained."

"Oh, man, go fuck yourself," Levi spat, flicking the shard of bone in his palm at Erwin's face. It bounced off his forehead, and he caught it between two fingers.

"What is this?" He turned it over. "Is this a bone?"

"Courtesy of Kenny Ackerman," Levi said clapping his hand over his leg. "Took that one when I was still alive."

Erwin glanced at him. He nodded pensively.

"Why aren't you freaking out?" Levi's eyes narrowed at Erwin. He was still bleeding from practically every orifice, the open cuts ripping further, shredded skin drooping against exposed muscle, bone peeking out from beneath the carnage. Levi's leg looked dented. Like someone had taken a hammer to it.

"Hange told me about the ghost issue." Erwin stared at Levi intently. "While I'm very glad to see you, I'm a little disappointed with you. Why would you try to kill Historia?"

Levi groaned. He rested his head back against the wall. "I can't tell you," he whispered.

"Why?" Erwin asked, his fist clenching around the bone shard.

Levi closed his eyes. He took a deep, hollow breath, and he spoke with a sting of pain to his voice. He flickered, and his limbs shortened and his body shrunk, and for a moment he was a child again. But the blood came pouring back, and his appearance seemed to stutter again, wavering between states shakily.

"He can hear you."


	23. Chapter 23

**you will see me a little while longer**

Everything seemed so bright.

At first he thought it was light filtering in through his window, but that didn't seem quite right. The light was too bright, too artificial and fuzzy. He knew. He knew something was wrong.

"Dad," he rasped.

His voice sliced through his throat like sandpaper. He winced, his fingers flying to his throat, and he felt a cord yank. There were tubes braided along his body, a nasal cannula strapped to his face, an intravenous catheter bruising the back of his hand, and all the while there was beeping phasing in and out of his head, distant drums like in the background of a heavy metal album.

This was not heavy metal.

This was the soft turbulence of callused fingers plucking guitar strings.

A lament just for him.

He felt somewhat sick.

"Dad," he uttered again, this time in a panic, his fingers trembling against the nasal cannula, "dad… dad…!" He tried to sit up, and the brightness sent his mind into overdrive, because the world was blurry and white and everything had an electric glow. His veins were pumping electric blood, and inside his mouth there were hornets from the distant, crushing pain of his throat.

Someone pushed him down, but he couldn't stop shouting. He didn't know why. He didn't ever really feel like he needed his father, but right now, in this haze of white, in this panicked glow of heavy electricity, he was in dire need of his father's hand, just the feel of his palm, the sense of his touch. That was all.

"Dad…!" He was sobbing. Why was he sobbing? Why was he all fucked up? Brightness threaded through his eyes. White, hazy glows outlining shadows, and he tasted the poison in his mouth, and he wondered what had happened, what had gone wrong, what he was doing, what he should do.

The whole world felt artificial now.

He was screaming his throat raw.

Dad, dad, dad, dad!

"I don't… understand…" he gasped, his fingers clawing at fuzzy white sheets that shuddered with an afterglow, "why…? Why…? Why…?"

Clenching sheets was the only action he could manage. His body would not obey him. The beeping was reaching a fever pitch, and the world was morphing around it. Soft murmuring, like the glubbing of human speech beneath water. It thudded in his head. All of it.

He remembered seeing red. Blood and tears and sweat. There were words. Taunts. He couldn't stand it. He couldn't take the pain. He was drunk on it, completely wasted on the taste of someone else's blood dripping onto his tongue, raspy words cleaning out his ears, and in the background there were screams. He listened, he watched, he tasted, and he found himself lost.

There was no more Eren Jaeger in that moment.

There was only death.

And now he was screaming, because it hurt to be alive.

To be awakened. To find that death had failed, to realize that the pain was going to come flooding back, that it wasn't over, that the one flicker of peace that he'd had had disappeared.

He screamed. He let himself mourn the loss of his death.

But he wasn't screaming anymore.

It took him a little while to realize he'd fallen asleep. It was the moment he'd woken up, really, that he'd figured it out.

"What…" he groaned, clamping his hands over his eyes. This room was just too bright! It was stifling. He was really annoyed, actually.

"Eren!"

It was his mother's voice. Even through the haze of his mind he could recognize that.

He turned his head, and he squinted. Her face was a dark blot in a sea of agonizing white, and that— that was the most beautiful thing. Truly.

"Hey…" He smiled at her weakly, coughing into his hand. "Hey… ma…" He groaned, shutting his eyes to keep the brightness away. "Ma, my head's all stuffed up… I think… I've got a cold, or somethin'…"

"Eren…" His mother snatched his hand, and she made a sound, a sharp, anguished noise, and he realized, rather vacantly, that she was sobbing. He couldn't properly respond to that. He wanted to be angry, to ask what had made her so sad so he could crush it, but he was too numb to care. That hurt. That really fucking hurt. It got him right in the soul, where all his passion sat, bruised like his ego from the power of a drunken stupor.

And then he remembered. All at once, he remembered.

He'd been in his father's arms. His father. His dad had been crying. Clutching Eren so tight that he could hardly breathe.

"What…?" He'd rasped. "Dad… dad… dad… what's wrong…? Dad…?"

And his father had held him tighter.

"Dad…" he'd murmured, "my throat hurts… dad…"

Eren's eyes snapped open.

"Oh," he whispered.

His mother squeezed his hand tightly. Her sobs rang in his head.

 _I tried to kill myself,_  he thought wildly.  _Why? Why would I do that?_

There was no answer.

Just plain old regret.

* * *

Instinctively, Armin pulled Historia away from Levi. She fell against him, heaving deep, rasping breaths as she held her throat and let her tears fall freely. He could feel her shaking beneath his hands, her shoulders shuddering and her knees jerking uncontrollably. She was in shock. He hugged her closer, tentatively pulling her further and further from where Levi sat against the wall, flickering like a light bulb on the verge of death.

"What?" Erwin's brow wrinkled bemusedly. He was still kneeling at Levi's side, still somehow unfazed by the turn of events. He took in the paranormal aspect of his old friend-slash-lover, and he treated it like it was nothing more than a hairstyle change. The blood bathing every scrap of skin left on him, the rapidly fluctuating visage, and the sight of Levi as a child had no effect on the man. It was impressive. It was fucking terrifying.

"He's listening." Levi sounded clearly irritated. "Are you stupid? Go away!"

"He's right," Mikasa gasped, grasping Erwin's shoulder. "You should get away from him."

"Hm?" Erwin glanced up at her curiously. Mikasa's eyes were filled with sadness. But also fire. She was furious. At Levi, perhaps, or maybe at Kenny. Armin held Historia closer, and she sunk her back against his chest and kept breathing. In and out, heaving sharp breaths. It was all she could do at the moment. "Who's listening, then? Kenny?"

Mikasa's expression went stony. Erwin scoffed.

"Levi," he said, his eyes gliding sharply to the ghost's pallid face, "do you honestly think Kenny Ackerman frightens me?"

Levi merely flickered. Child. Adult. Child. Adult. Blood soaked through and through. Stained crimson from the moment he could open his dull little eyes.

"How is he listening?" Erwin leaned forward, squinting at Levi's distorted face. He seemed to not even exist in reality, but be split between two. Child. Adult. Child. Adult. "Is he in your head?"

Levi hugged his knees to his chest tightly. "Leave me alone," he spat.

"Oh yes," Erwin stated flatly, "because that one will stop me. Honestly, you haven't changed at all."

"He's listening to everything you say," Levi exhaled, "he… he's laughing. Someone else is with him. You should go. You should get away from Shiganshina while you can."

"Like I said," Erwin sighed. "I'm not afraid of Kenny, and I'm certainly not running away. Get up. You are not a tool that your father can use whenever he pleases."

"I  _can't_!" Levi snarled. "I can't get away from him! I can't do anything but sit here and hope he doesn't make me kill one of you!"

"Like you almost killed Historia?" Armin snapped. She'd settled down, her face buried in his chest, no real sound coming from her. But she was still shaking. He wondered if she'd ever stop.

Levi clamped his hands over his ears. His eyes were wide and furious.

"Now you've done it," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. "Now you've done it, kid…"

Armin didn't understand what he'd done wrong. He rubbed Historia's shoulder reassuringly as Jean stepped between them, acting out as a shield.

"You're such an asshole," Jean hissed. "Seriously, just because your dead doesn't mean you can treat the living like shit!"

"Hey," Armin whispered, touching Historia's hair. She raised her tears streaked face, and she coughed a little. "Hey, you okay?"

She nodded. Then, half-way through a jerky nod, she shook her head furiously. A sob bubbled up and fell from her lips, and she clapped her hands over her mouth.

"It's fine to cry," he told her with a small smile. "After what you've been through, you deserve it."

She nodded. She kept nodding, her tears falling faster, and he let her use his shoulder as a tissue.

"Historia is a victim, Levi," Erwin said sharply. "Just like you."

"You don't understand…" Levi groaned, digging his fingers into his hair as his body flickered violently. His voice was wavering. High. Deep. High. Deep. "You don't get it!" Even his emotions wavered. Dull. Fiery. Dull. Fiery.

"That's because you're being so fucking cryptic." Jean folded his arms across his chest, and he glanced down at Armin. His eyes asked a question.  _You okay?_  Armin could only nod.

"Listen…" Levi lowered his head. "Listen to me… if that girl… if she survives… then there's no point. You're all fucking dead anyway."

 _She's part of the ritual somehow_ , Armin thought. He glanced down at his small friend, listening to her sniffle and cough.  _Maybe she's like… the on switch? If you kill her, then you turn the whole thing off. No need to kill anyone else_.

But that meant killing Historia. He didn't want her to go through anything else. This girl… right now, she was as guileless and innocent as a child. And even when she had her memories, Historia wasn't malicious or cruel. She was just sad. She was sad, and she hated, and Armin understood that.

"Historia," he murmured. "Come on. We're gonna get out of here."

"Huh…?" She pulled away to peer at him, her gauzy eyes searching his face. Quickly, she rubbed them furiously with the back of her bandaged forearm, and she nodded. He helped her to her feet, and as he led her toward the door, her bare feet squeaking softly against the hard wood, Levi appeared before them in a vicious flash of distorting red images, copies of him shuddering around the original.

"You need to listen," Levi hissed at him, staring into his eyes with the coldest glare Armin had ever seen. It pinned him in place. Historia gripped his arm tightly. "That other ghost— whoever the fuck she is, she knows what's up. Let her drag Historia into a fucking basement. Let her die. Please." Levi looked exhausted as he shuddered, his bloody face cloning itself every time it moved. Echoes of expressions were imprinted upon the air, and Armin could see anguished screams in the backdrop, as though what he was looking at wasn't what was really there. "Please… you'll regret it… you'll really regret it…"

"Go fuck yourself," Armin said coolly.

Levi stared at him. He closed his eyes, and for a moment Armin thought he saw them glistening.

But Levi disappeared before he could look further.

They all seemed to exhale at once. Armin rested his hand on Historia's head, and she wiped at her cheeks furiously.

"I'm okay," she murmured. "I… I just…"

"Yeah…" Jean said distantly from behind them. "He really doesn't seem to get that other people have feelings."

"He's always been like that," Erwin sighed. Armin glanced back at him as he stood up. "I'm sorry I couldn't be more helpful, but honestly, I think Levi hates me."

"No way," Armin gasped. Erwin looked at him. He tilted his head inquisitively, and Armin found himself flushing. "I mean… like you said, isn't that just how he is?"

"I've known Levi for a very long time," Erwin said. "He was always… distant. As you now know, he was continuously questioning his identity because of his father's drugs. We didn't really find that out until much later in life, so we weren't able to prepare for it. That hurt him a great deal." Erwin offered a meager shrug. "I cannot possibly tell you what Levi is thinking. But I do know that, in part at least, some of his mental scars are due to my own carelessness. I wish I could help you more, but I don't think he wants me anywhere near him."

They were all quiet, letting Erwin's words sink in. Armin couldn't really blame Levi for his personality, but his behavior was absolutely unacceptable. He didn't want anyone else to die unless it was Kenny. Historia was his friend. Mikasa was way more than that. He wasn't going to sacrifice one or the other. He was going to save them both, no matter the cost.

"It's not your fault, Erwin," Armin said gently. He turned around, and he smiled at the man as brightly as he possibly could with his current injuries. "You know, we never really followed through on our deal. How about you wait here, and after I take Historia home, I'll tell you everything."

Erwin smiled at him. It was a surprisingly warm smile. He nodded curtly.

"That sounds fair enough," he said, closing his eyes.

"I'll go with you," Mikasa said, moving toward the door. Armin shook his head and held out his arm.

"No, you stay," he said, staring into her eyes. She looked annoyed, shooting him a sharp glance. Her nostrils flared. "Eren said he was going to nap, so I assume he already brought the tooth back. I'm going to give Annie the tip, but in case Eren comes back and the plans change, I need you guys here."

"Eren can follow us wherever," Mikasa said sharply. "I want to go with you. You two shouldn't be out alone, not when it's getting dark."

"We'll be fine," Armin laughed. "I'll just come right back after I know Historia is safe, okay?"

She exhaled sharply. She was clearly not convinced, but she obviously didn't want to force him to stay. She folded her arms across her chest and nodded slowly.

"Okay," she sighed. "But someone should probably stay with Historia at all times."

"I'll get Ymir on it," Armin said brightly. "I'm pretty sure no one is stupid enough to attack Ymir."

"Eren would," Mikasa muttered.

"Yeah, well…" Armin rubbed the back of his neck, thumbing the scabbed over scratch from when Levi had beaten him up a few days ago. "Eren would fight a brick wall and keep going until he punched a hole through it, so…"

Mikasa smiled. And then, she gave a little laugh. "You're right," she said, beaming at him. "I'll wait here for him, then. But you better be fucking careful."

"I'll be right back," Armin promised, making a quick cross over his heart. "See you guys in a bit."

"Yeah, dude," Jean called after him. "Don't let that dickhead near Historia, you hear me!"

"He won't touch her again," Armin called back. "Seriously, I promise!"

Historia was quiet as they descended the metal stairs. They creaked mildly, the sound of rust shaking from old metal limbs, and the sudden dusk made Armin's eyes hurt as they adjusted. She was barefoot, wearing his old clothes, and it was clear just by glancing at her that she'd been roughed up. Her neck was an angry red hue, and beneath that it was a grotesque mauve color. The skin was discolored and twisted raw.

"We must be good friends," Historia murmured.

"Huh?" Armin glanced down at her. She was walking more easily now, though she definitely still seemed shaken.

"You… all of you…" She glanced up at him, and she smiled weakly. "You've been so nice. You really seem to care about me. I think that's really nice."

Armin wondered if she was beginning to remember how awful her life was, or if the pain in her eyes was just from the fact that there was skin on her throat literally beginning to peel off. He didn't know how he was going to explain that to Ymir.

"I think we're good friends," he said distantly. "But I never thought you thought of us that way."

"Oh, really?" Her eyes were wide. "Huh. I guess I'm kinda a bitch then, huh?"

Armin couldn't help but laugh. "Well…" He scratched the back of his head, and she kicked him. Albeit, not very hard, but all the same she'd done it.

"You're not supposed to hesitate!" she scolded him teasingly. "Tell me I'm not!"

"Well, Historia," he said sheepishly, "I've been trying out this new thing called being honest, and—!"

"Oh, shut up," she snorted, rubbing her neck absently.

They continued to walk, shadows rising up and shrinking behind every tree, every building. Historia's bare feet scraped against the sidewalk. Her hair was drying in soft, wavy tufts around her face, and Armin wondered what would happen when she remembered everything. If she's hate them for what had happened, or if things would just go on as they always had.

"What's my girlfriend like?" Historia asked vacantly. Armin glanced at her, and he stifled a laugh, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Uh," he said, "well, she's really… something. We've never really been close, but I think she's cool."

"Cool." Historia slumped, staring forward into the darkened street. Wind blew softly, shuddering through their hair. "I feel bad. I can't remember a thing about her, except what she looks like. And that's only because Eren dealt with her when I  _really_  didn't know her."

"It's okay," Armin told her gently. "You don't need to worry too much. I'm sure your memory will come back soon."

She nodded vacantly. "Yeah," she sighed. "Yeah, you're right. It has to come back eventually… right?"

"Right." Armin smiled at her, hoping that maybe he could make her a little happy, maybe just a little, maybe this once. He felt so guilty for all the things that had happened, for all the bullshit she'd gone through, and he didn't want her to feel sad anymore. He felt like he understood now, why she'd been the way she'd been for so long. If she'd thought the world would be better off if she was dead for half her life, of course she'd be suicidal.

"Well," Armin declared, slowing to a stop before Historia and Ymir's building. "Here we are! Your apartment."

"Huh." She tilted her chin up toward the sky, her eyes moving slowly to take in the sight of the building, bricks stacked high toward the sky. "It's strange."

He looked down at her, his eyes brightening excitedly. "Do you remember something?"

"What?" She squinted at him, and she rolled her eyes. "No. It's just a weird building. It looks kinda crooked, don't you think?" She laughed, her fingers lacing behind her back, and Armin's eyes softened.

"Yeah…" He agreed with her only to make her feel better. He didn't really see what she was talking about, but it made her laugh, so he didn't care. "Okay, let's do this. You ready?"

"Of course." She started forward, pushing at the doors. Of course they did not open. She stared at them confusedly, and kept pushing. Finally she gave up, and she kicked the door in frustration. "Fuck this!" she huffed, her eyes flashing angrily. Armin watched her with a vacant expression. He smiled nervously, and he tapped her shoulder gently. She glanced at him sharply, and he pointed at the buzzer beside the door. She looked at it, and then she flushed. "Oh."

He hit the buzzer and waited. It was dark now, and he was considering his walk back home. He'd be fine, but his mind had fallen back, and now he was recalling the night Eren had died. He really, really did not want to relive that. He didn't want to think about it. But it was there. Nostalgia of the worst kind biting into his heart and sending him into a shock of paralysis.

" _Yeah_?" It was Ymir's low drawl, sharp in to the point as it bled through the speaker of the buzzer.

"Ymir," Armin called. "It's Armin."

" _Oh, boo_." Ymir snorted. " _You're out of the hospital? That's so sad_."

"And Historia is here," he continued calmly. "So can you let us—?"

There was a click, and Historia pushed the door. It slid open easily. "Oh, awesome," she gasped. "Tell her I said thanks!"

"You can thank her yourself," Armin said, following her into the threshold and watching her wander down a hall. "No, Historia, no. Come back." She drifted back to his side bemusedly, and he caught her by the elbow, leading her up the stairs. "This way, okay? This is where your apartment is."

"Okay."

Ymir was waiting outside the apartment door for them. She didn't run for Historia or anything romantic like that, but she was staring with large eyes, her jaw tight and her arms wrapped firmly around her. Her shaggy brown hair fell at her neck, loose and tangled.

"Hey," Ymir called. She was trying to act cool, but Armin could tell she was totally losing it. "What the fuck happened to you? Yikes!" Ymir grabbed Historia by the face, causing the girl to squirm, and she lifted Historia's head to look at her mottled neck. "What the fuck is this?"

"I ran into some, uh…" She threw a questioning glance at Armin, who could only shake his head. "Uh… trouble? Yeah. Trouble. I'm okay, though."

"Listen. You dummy." Ymir took a deep breath. And then she shoved Historia back sharply. She stumbled, only barely managing to catch herself. "You have to stop lying to me! The last time I saw you, you acted so fucking weird, like way weirder than usual. Stop this right now. What happened?" She rounded on Armin, her eyes flashing dangerously. "I want the truth. I let her go with you because I don't have any control over this bitch's life, but if you lie to me one more time I am so done with all of you—!"

"Ymir," Armin gasped, throwing his hands up. "Please calm down!"

"Why'd you call me a bitch?" Historia asked distantly.

"I just call 'em as I see 'em, love," Ymir laughed easily. "Anyway. Armin? Answers?"

"Let's…" Armin knew he'd promised to be right back home, but this was important. "Let's go inside. Okay?"

Ymir eyed him with a hint of distrust, but she rolled her eyes and turned away. "Sure," she said. "Just as long as you explain yourself."

They moved inside the apartment, and Armin remember the last time he'd been there. How long ago that seemed. He sighed, watching Historia glance around the apartment with large eyes. She probably couldn't help it. Her thoughts likely were something like,  _Wow! I live here!_  Or something like that.

"Okay." Ymir flopped onto her couch, and she folded her arms across her chest. "Explain, buddy. Tick tock."

Armin rubbed his face, and then promptly winced. His injuries wouldn't be healing for awhile, and even though he was moving around like normal  _everything fucking hurt_. He supposed he shouldn't be acting like it was nothing, because he might just worsen his predicament, but there were too many things happening for people to be worrying about him.

Historia was watching him. Perhaps she was curious about what he was going to say next.

In all honesty, so was he.

There were no good lies. Ymir was pretty much on top of everything, and no matter what Armin said, if it didn't appeal to her then he might as well say hello to a new bruise on his discolored face.

So… tell the truth?

Yeah. Wasn't that a thing now? Armin telling the truth?

He might as well.

"Kenny Ackerman kidnapped Historia," Armin said distantly. Historia looked surprised. She stared at him blankly. "I couldn't tell you when, exactly, but she disappeared after almost killing herself—"

"This was before the noose incident?" Ymir asked sharply. Historia's eyes were wide. Perhaps she really had no idea how fucked up she actually was.

"Yes, it was over a week ago," he said distantly. "Um… well, anyway, Kenny drugged her. It's a really weird drug, I don't know its name, but it causes temporary amnesia. It'll probably last for another few weeks."

"I didn't realize you were going to tell her," Historia murmured.

Armin whirled to face her. He took a deep breath. "Right now," he said firmly, "we need you to be safe. If Ymir knows what's going on, she'll be better equipped to protect you."

"I…" She wrinkled her nose. "I don't like that. That I need protecting."

"I'm sorry, but what the fuck?" Ymir offered out her hands in a shrugging gesture.

"It'd take way too long to explain everything," Armin blurted, shrinking under her sharp gaze.

"Yeah?" Ymir folded her arms across her chest, and she lifted her chin up high. "Well I've got all night. Sit down. Let's chit chat."

In the end, it was difficult to argue with Ymir. When she wasn't dodging confrontation, she actually was a pretty damn stubborn person. She made Armin and Historia sit down, and she milked them for every scrap of information she could. She took the ghost thing pretty well. The only thing she seemed to care about was how this all connected with the immediate danger Historia was facing, and of course her amnesia.

About halfway through the explanation, Historia had completely passed out. She'd curled up on the couch, her hair bunching around her face, and she used the fluffy blonde mass like a pillow as her head drooped and did not pick up for the remainder of Armin's explanation. She seemed at peace now. Nothing was bothering her, not even the most recent near death experiences. Somehow, nearly being strangled twice didn't rank highly on her list of most traumatizing experiences, even with amnesia. That was pretty scary.

"Ah…" Armin yanked his phone out of his pocket as it buzzed frantically. Mikasa was texting him. She was asking where he was. If he was okay. If she needed to come get him. When he checked the time he realized it was nearing nine at night. He'd been here for  _hours_!

Time just slipped on by, didn't it?

He hadn't even realized how much he'd wasted.

"What is it?" Ymir's eyes narrowed. Armin couldn't tell how much she believed him, but she'd listened to his story, and hadn't had too many snide comments to add. He'd basically told her the abridged version. So basically he'd left out most of the Eren bits. All Ymir knew was that Eren was a ghost now.

"Just Mikasa," he replied. "She's wondering where I am."

"Oh." Ymir snorted. "Just tell her you're staying here for the night."

Armin glanced at her worriedly. "Is that… okay?" he asked tentatively.

"Dude," she said flatly. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, and she rose to her feet. "Do what you want. But it's getting pretty late, and from what you've told me, I wouldn't want to walk home alone."

"Well… I mean, I've wandered the woods by myself at night," he admitted, scratching his cheek and hissing in pain. "Ow…"

"Yeah, you're a real mess." Ymir shook her head. "Okay, that settles it. You're way too stupid to trust out all on your own. Like, I get that you're this super intellectual type, but damn, man." She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and she smirked back at him. "You're really fucking street dumb."

"Aha…" He gave a sheepish laugh, flushing in shame. "Right…"

So he told Mikasa that he had decided to stay at Ymir's apartment. She seemed a little skeptical, but she seemed okay with it after Armin promised he was okay, and that Historia was okay, and that he was doing it just to be safe.

Then he texted Annie. He asked her if she'd be able to pull a search warrant out from somewhere and search Kenny Ackerman's house.

_Why?_

That was her immediate response.

 _Because_ , he replied,  _he killed Levi_.  _There's evidence in that house, you just need to find it!_

A little bubble popped up signifying she was typing. And typing. And typing. The little bubble of ellipses lasted for minutes, and after staring at the screen for so long, the outline of the bright rectangle was imprinted upon his retinas.

 _Ok_ , she replied after what felt like an eternity. Armin was so relieved, he couldn't even feel resentful that it had taken so long for her response.

_Thank you!_

But then a new response came, so much quicker than the last that Armin found himself alarmed.

 _I'm not on duty right now, but Armin… this is the last time I'm helping. After what happened in that basement_ …

This didn't seem like the type of conversation he wanted to have over text.

 _It's okay, Annie_ , he typed quickly.  _It's okay. This is the last thing I'll ever ask you. Okay?_

That bubble appeared.

Dot. Dot. Dot.

Dot. Dot. Dot.

_Ok._

And that was that.

Armin was overcome with a sense of loss. He didn't know what it had looked like, when Annie had rescued them from that basement, but he knew she was probably cursing herself and him and everything else a hundred times over. He was a bad friend. To Annie, he'd always been. Eren had told him that she'd liked him once, which made perfect sense, but Armin had always felt that something like that was illogical. Romance was illogical. So Annie was a friend that he turned to, that he cared about dearly, but couldn't help but disappoint. He knew the course they'd always take, and he knew he was destined to never make Annie happy.

They were creatures of habit, after all.

Nostalgia was biting him in the ass. He couldn't help but wish to be back, back before all of this bullshit had started, back to the childhood where he'd sold information for scraps and had laughed heartily on the back of a parked motorcycle, feeling that he at least belonged a little bit in a makeshift group of friends.

But life went on. And he wasn't that person anymore.

"Armin…"

Both Ymir and Armin raised their heads in alarm. Historia's soft voice broke through the comfortable silence, raspy and thin. She sounded… pained.

"Oh, crap," Armin murmured, jumping to his feet and sliding his phone into his pocket. "Historia?"

She was curled up on the couch, her hair falling into her face as her head lolled back. He could hear her breath rattling, shuddering as though she'd just pulled herself out of an icy lake, heavy, chattering gasps that signified how desperate and freezing she was. Ymir looked like she wanted to reach out and touch her, but she wasn't too sure about it, so her dark, freckled hands lingered in midair as Historia's head jerked sharply up.

"Armin," she choked, her thin shoulders trembling as she peered through the pale strings of hair that had accumulated over her face like a shredded curtain. Her eyes were big and blue and clouded over, distanced from this room and distanced from her very consciousness. She spoke, and her words broke the air like a heel cracking ice. "Listen… listen to me…"

She was inhaling and exhaling with considerable trouble, taking huge gulps of air and shivering, her fingers extending toward Armin shakily, joints trembling and jerking erratically.

"Historia," he said, holding his hands up in surrender, contemplating his options and the explanations for her behavior, "I'm right here. It's okay."

"No!" She shook her head. It snapped from side to side sharply, as though the action was pushed by an unseen force. "No, no, no! You don't get it! Armin… Armin, it's Eren…" She hissed, clamping her hands over her head, and Armin froze. Ymir was also frozen. And then her eyes slid sharply to Armin, her flare fierce and disgusted. "Listen to me… listen! Frieda… she's really strong… and she won't stop. She can't stop. She's gonna be here until it's all over… she said she doesn't care how many people have to die, but she's gonna… stop this… the ritual…"

"Oh my god," Armin grabbed Historia's face, halting it from snapping its vicious shake from side to side. "Eren, what's going on? Why are you using Historia's body again?"

"Again?" Ymir echoed, her voice cold.

Historia's whimper shot a chill down Armin's spine.

"You can't… let Frieda have Historia… she'll kill her… she'll kill anyone…"

"Well," Armin sighed, "I kinda figured. But, Eren, are you okay? What's going on?"

"Yeah, man," Ymir snapped. "What's going on?"

Historia's eyes rolled back into her head. She was crying.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"Eren—!"

Historia's body went completely limp, her convulsing limbs settling against the couch, and she closed her eyes. Her uneven breaths returned to a normal pace, and the tears began to dry on her cheeks. But the effect had been made. The room was cold and empty now, the sense of urgency and dread spilling into the air and freezing rapidly.

Armin ran his fingers through his hair, his heart thudding rapidly in his chest as he released Historia's face and backed away. Ymir had climbed onto the couch, smoothing Historia's hair away from her wet, pallid face. She glanced at Armin sharply.

"What just happened?" she demanded.

"I don't…" Armin blinked. Eren had sounded so scared… he'd sounded like he'd been in pain! What was Armin supposed to do? "I don't know, I…"

"Okay, I thought this was all pretty cool until just now," Ymir said, straightening up and scowling. "Historia is not going to die. You got it?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Armin shook his head, holding his forehead and feeling sick to his stomach. "Listen, you… you keep an eye on her, okay? Don't let her out of your sight."

"Okay…" Ymir watched him with a knitted brow as he moved shakily toward the door. "Where are you going?"

"I… I'm not really sure yet!" He grabbed the knob, and he looked back at her, his expression bordering desperation. "But I have to do something! This is Eren, and I… I'm really, really scared." He smiled weakly. "I don't want to lose him again."

Ymir watched him. Slowly, she nodded.

Armin left without another word.

He didn't know what he was doing.

He didn't have a plan. He didn't even feel like there was a plan to be made.

He was just running in one direction, his mind wiped blank of all logic, because Eren was in trouble, Eren was in pain, and after everything that had happened, Armin couldn't bear it anymore!

He'd throw all his logic to the wind if it meant he could help Eren.

"Eren," he gasped, praying that he'd hear him somehow. "Eren…"

So he ran some more. His sneakers clapped against the road, street lamps sending yellow shafts of light into the growing miasma of fog. Armin had to keep running. He was beginning to tie together that Eren had gone to Kenny's house, and that's where Frieda had been when they'd last seen her.

So had Frieda captured Eren somehow?

Armin was breathless. He needed to get to Eren.

He needed to save him.

This time… this time…

Suddenly he tripped. He felt his legs being yanked up from under him, and his body smacked into the cold black asphalt, fog biting into his eyes. He heard a ringing in his head, and he groaned, pushing himself up to his hands and knees.

No. He hadn't tripped.

He realized that with a sudden rush of terror.

Sitting cross legged before him was a stringy haired girl, dripping wet and frowning dully. Her hollow eyes watched him. He swallowed back a scream.

"You," he whispered. His voice was shaking with horror and rage.

She lifted her chin.

"You should run," she sighed, "go and run home, little one."

"No." Armin jerked upright, and he sat in the middle of the road, staring at her with wild eyes. "Where's Eren? What did you do to him?"

She bared her teeth at him in a vicious smile. "Stupid little fool," she cooed. "I've done nothing— I only come to warn you that you are being used as a tool."

"What?" Armin's mind was guttering back into life. Logic was returning. Oh. Oh no. What didn't he know?

She nodded firmly. "Uh oh, looks like that's that!" She gave a shivery little laugh, and the fog began to consume her. She faded away, her voice lingering only to draw cold fingers down his spine. "Too late, I guess, to warn you it's a trap."

Armin jumped to his feet. He heard the sound of an approaching car, and he backed away from the road, his heart hammering in his chest. A trap…? A trap for him?

He kept backing up as a car rolled up to him. Armin needed to run.  _No_ , he realized in horror as the tinted window was rolled down, and the plump face of Rod Reiss watched him with varying degrees of pity and regret.  _Oh no… this is bad… should I run for it? If I can get into an alley, I might be able to lose a car, but_ —

He realized too late that he had no time to run. He'd backed right up into a bony chest, and even as the alarms in his brain went off, even as he bolted sideways, his objective reversing and self-preservation becoming the number one priority, there was no way he could have gotten away. His arm was caught in the vise-grip of Kenny Ackerman, and he was yanked back so roughly that Armin heard a strange  _pop_. He realized it was his shoulder. His shoulder had dislocated.

And he was screaming.

He was screaming, but he didn't feel like he was. He didn't feel like anything. There was a cloud over his mind.

There was a cloth over his mouth.

He was inhaling something.

Oh.

This was Kenny Ackerman.

His screams did nothing. He could scream for eternity. And, perhaps, he would.

Armin's vision began to swim, and in the midst of the fog, Levi stood.

He was staring, his eyes wide, his mouth open, and he shook his head. His guilt was written all over his disbelieving face.

"I'm sorry," he croaked.

 _It wasn't Eren_ , Armin realized, his heart sinking.

His vision blotted out into the dark. He felt numbed.

Someone was screaming. A familiar voice. A familiar rattle. It wouldn't stop.

It wouldn't stop.


	24. Chapter 24

**building castles in the air**

The chill was seeping into his skin, striking through his muscle and electrifying his bones. He was floating in a bed of ice, his body buoyant and free, sliding easily along the water's dark surface. He was lying on his back, watching the sky paint pictures of days and nights, of days and nights, thousands of them slipping by undisturbed.

In his gauzy green eyes, the sun sailed from east to west, the moon devouring itself and regurgitating every few weeks, the stars swirling in their deathly existence, already dead, but still casting a ghostly light upon the universe as they spun on and on and on. He watched clouds in his sightless eyes, watched the cumulus clouds tumble past, fluffy and so close even his immobile fingers itched to touch them. He watched lightning stitch through the steely gray skies, rain hammering down upon him in long, silvery bullets. He watched meteors shower the heavens, and he watched time shuffle on by, forgetting his very existence.

He slept.

His eyes were open, and he saw the world pass him by, but he slept through it anyway.

He was not conscious of the changes around him. He only saw. He only dreamed.

The first time he woke up, he was standing in the middle of the forest.

He didn't know why. He didn't know how.

He just stood. It was dark. He was cold.

His heart was aching. His body felt hollow. Like someone had scooped out all the guts and vitals, like everything in his head had been meticulously removed by two steady hands. A lobotomy for one.

Eren Jaeger was gone.

He knew that just by shivering in the empty forest, the world looking like a dream, haze and bog and under-saturation. He was watching the world with glazed over eyes, his feet scraping the ground and leaving no real sound. He drew a breath, and it rattled. It sounded like such a struggle to him, but he didn't seem to care.

He trudged through the forest. Suddenly he was in a parking lot.

How did that happen?

He didn't care.

He didn't question it.

There was no lucidity to him. He existed. He was there.

He was awake, but only in theory. He was moving, but not on his own.

This was instinct. This was simply nature.

He found himself in another different place. He swayed, staring through the film that clouded his vision, and he realized he was in Mikasa's room.

For some reason, he didn't find that strange.

Mikasa.

Mikasa…

She was sleeping. He did not want to disturb her. His mind told him that it was a rare sight, Mikasa slumbering, so not to do anything stupid.

But he was not quite himself.

And he wanted to talk to her.

"Mi…" His voice came out of his throat like glass grinding up underfoot. It hurt. He was struck by unbearable pain, indescribable shock lacing through his larynx and chest, his whole body shaking from the sheer force of it. He couldn't think. The sound was echoing off the walls, reverberating and thrumming like a scream in a church, the acoustics of the room amplifying simply by the eerie nature of his disembodied voice. "Mika…"

She stirred.

Pain was taking over. He heard less of his voice and more of his sobbing.

"Mika...sa… Mikasa…"

She bolted upright, her eyes darting around the room wildly, and in his daze he knew she was breathing heavily, her lips parted and her shoulders rising and falling.

For some reason, she seemed to relax. She held her head, shaking it slowly. He didn't understand. He was right there. He was shaking. Sobbing. Couldn't she see him? Hear him?

"Mikasa…"

She jumped, skittering out of bed and stumbling back. In the dark, in the filmy daze, he saw her clutched her chest to regulate her breathing. He stepped closer to her. He felt desperate. His empty heart and empty head were longing to be filled.

"Mikasa…" Without even really meaning to, he reached toward her.

He was beside her.

His hand slipped through her shoulder.

Tears filled his eyes.

What?

What was this?

What was happening?

Everything was suddenly so, so, so bad.

It was cold, and it was dark, and he could feel the worms squirming through his skull, and he didn't know what to do! How? How had this happened?

No, no, no!

He was dead?

He was… dead…?

"Eren…?" Mikasa gasped, her eyes clouded over, her body shivering, and she stumbled back. "No… no way…"

He'd missed her voice. Missed? How long?

How long?

How long had it been?

He wanted to scream.

But all he could do was sob and shake and shiver.

He was dead.

He was dead!

And now he was trapped.

It felt like hell. Frozen hell, ice clinging to the inside of his lungs.

Dead.

A ghost.

It wasn't fair… it wasn't fair…

Why did he feel nothing but inexplicable pain washing over him?

Why did he feel practically nothing at all?

He'd thought life had been a prison.

But death was so much worse.

* * *

She wondered what death would feel like.

Not for the first time, she was turning over the thought in her head, making guesses and taking bets with herself. It was always a gamble. But she couldn't care at this point. Couldn't? Or wouldn't? Hell if she knew.

She was just done with this world. Plain and simple.

Planning a suicide was actually pretty tough work. She had to figure out if she wanted to leave a note, because it had to be believable and tragic, not like she was trying to better mankind or anything. She picked out a beautiful white dress, chiffon flowing over an under layer of embroidered lace floral patterns. She couldn't wait for it to be ruined. It would be caked with mud and dirt, waterlogged and heavy, weighing her body down.

She sat on the smooth rock that sat at the edge of the cliff, observing the overlook with genuine wonder. The night was beautiful and clear, a slight breeze tickling her cheeks and toying with her long, loose brown hair. The stars were glinting overhead, and she was content for once. It was such a pretty place.

The perfect place to die, really.

She wasn't really sad about it. There was resignation in this decision, like she'd been driven into a corner and could only go in one direction. That direction was downward.

It was definitely selfish. She hadn't been trying to be selfish. She'd tried, y'know? She'd really tried! But her father had botched it all up, and she didn't really feel like kidnapping. Also, she liked this better. It made her look far more tragic if she did this alone, without the murder-suicide thing to soil her already perfect image.

Anyway, it was over. She was so fucking relieved, she just needed to sit and enjoy it for a little while. While she still could enjoy things. Was that wrong? It wasn't quite that she was prolonging the inevitable, but absorbing the exhilaration of liberation for the first time ever. It was nice. All the stress and terror rolled off her shoulders.

Part of her was bitter.

This fucking world. Why did she have to die for it?

Why did she have to be the sacrificial lamb so all the Isaacs of the world could live?

Bullshit. It was just plain bullshit!

But the alternative was so much worse.

She'd rather die as herself, in this cold pit of roaring water, than lose her mind and succumb to some terrible beast summoned from the earth.

No fucking thanks.

It was selfish, yeah, because it wouldn't end with her. She knew that. She was perfectly aware of the backup plans in case of her untimely demise.

But she wouldn't be there to see it.

Thank god! She was finally free of this god awful bullshit! Finally!

Peace. That was all she'd ever wanted.

Anyway, Historia would eventually come to the same conclusion she'd come to and off herself eventually.

Frieda really hoped there was an afterlife. She couldn't wait to see her little sister again.

"Well," she quipped to herself, stretching her lips and dusting the dirt from her pretty white dress. "That's that, I guess. What should my last words be?"

She turned back to the forest inquisitively. The dark trees stared back at her, pallid stalks in the hollowness of the woods. She smirked at them, and turned to face the empty space that was her inevitable fate.

"Yeah, whatever. No one's around to hear it anyway." She thought for a moment, and she snapped her fingers abruptly. "Oh hey! If a girl screams in a forest, and no one's around to hear it, does she really make a sound?"

She beamed with self-satisfaction.

Time to find out.

* * *

Coming to was hard. He felt like he was being held underwater. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. There was nothing but cold flooding through him, nothing at all, and that should have scared him, but he could not reach his fear. It was somewhere far off. Discarded. Useless now.

When the world had first come to an end, he'd felt a similar sort of hollowness inside him. Crippling cold, empty spaces devouring him whole. It was hard to think when everything had turned to dust and blown away from his trembling, outstretched fingers.

He was alone.

In retrospect, he should be terrified. He was alone, and he was freezing, and he felt so damn hollow that it made him want to peel the skin from his chest, pry open his rib cage, and stuff his chest with cotton to smother the empty space.

So why wasn't he scared?

He was still coming to. He realized that he was sitting in a cold, dark room. He was definitely sitting down. He felt like there was something hovering over him, like a curtain, or something. He shifted, but the feeling didn't go away. Maybe it was a subconscious thing, then? He was still very much trapped in the haze of his own mind.

 _What happened?_ he thought, squinting through the darkness and attempting to move his arms. He found them locked at his sides. Perhaps he was tied up? Yeah, that seemed to ring a bell. Bindings and rope and inexplicable fear. He must have blocked it out from his mind from the trauma.

Perhaps he'd been asleep. Knocked out? That would explain why everything was so disconnected.

He needed to wake himself up somehow.

Something _important_  had happened. He needed to remember what!

Now, Armin thought he was pretty damn smart. That's what people had always told him. He was just pretty fucking smart. So why did he feel so vapid and empty and dumb?

"Morning," a bright voice chirped.

He found he was able to turn his head. A pallid, stringy haired girl was sitting cross-legged beside him.

A scream of pure terror tore from his throat, and but he couldn't jerk away from her, so he just sat and stared, his eyes wide and his mouth open.

The dead girl rolled her dull eyes, and she stretched her arms above her head. "Man, you're so high strung," she said. "Calm down."

"You're…" He realized something was very different about her. There was no air of malice about her, no spookiness aside from her undeniably cadaverous appearance, and she was no longer speaking in rhyme. "Oh. Um… hi."

"Hi." She rested her elbow on her knee, placing her chin in her palm and leaning forward. "You know who I am, right?"

"Uh… Frieda. Right?" He glanced away, trying to get a look around the room, but it was too dark, and his vision was filmy. "You've been trying to kill Historia?"

"Bingo!" She winked at him, lifting her spindly fingers into a gun, gesturing to him sharply and making a clicking noise with her tongue and teeth. "Yeah, she's my little sister. I kinda feel obligated, y'know?"

"To…" Armin stared at her, finding himself growing unnerved. "To kill her…?"

"Yes." Frieda smiled, and the smile stretched over her pallid face, dirt clinging to the gleaming creases of her mouth. "Does that surprise you?"

"It's ridiculous!" Armin shook his head furiously. "Like, how fucking dare you? She's a person, you know! She has feelings! Why would you do that to your own sister?"

"It's just better this way." Frieda looked at him innocently. "Sorry. I guess you don't really understand yet. Would you like me to show you?"

Armin took a deep breath. His vision was swimming. He was so, so tired. He just wanted to go to sleep…

"It won't hurt you," Frieda told him gently, reaching out with her pale, bone-like fingers. Armin shrunk back, and she paused. "Seriously? Lighten up! Don't you want  _answers_?"

Armin was reminded vividly of Levi, and the journey through those terrible memories Armin had taken. He didn't know if he wanted to go through something like that again, but… answers…

What an enticing word.

Answers.

"Answers…" he murmured, his eyes averting sharply from her terrible, beautiful face. He closed his eyes, and he jerked his chin in consent.

There was an abrupt sensation of pressure on his brain as she held his head, cradling it in her wet, clammy hands.

A chill shuddered through him.

* * *

It was difficult to say when it had begun. She must have been young, because it seemed as though her entire life had revolved around the fact that she was going to die.

She'd be reborn, of course! That fact was always reassured. She'd die. And then, in a great cataclysm, she'd be reborn into something undefinable.

Frieda Reiss had spent her childhood under the assumption that she was a god.

Literally. Her father had explained it all to her a thousand times over.

"Our bloodline is special," he'd say, over and over again. "We are connected to the earth- the universe! We are the future and the past. We are gods locked in the skin of men. To unlock that power, great sacrifices must be made. Understand? You will become what you were always meant to be. But first we must prepare the sacrifices."

Yadda, yadda, yadda.

Simply put, she was destined to become a god. Unfortunately, that meant she had to watch a few people die.

Why would anyone want to become a god, you ask?

Well for her, it wasn't really much of a choice. In truth, for a while she'd just assumed it was her birthright. She had no real desire for it, but she felt she was entitled to it. And was that so wrong?

Yeah, yeah, she eventually understood that the murder of innocent people for her ultimatum was bad.

But as a child, that stuff simply just didn't occur to her.

She had her own copy of _The Cult of Walls_ , which she'd read cover to cover numerous times.

"So, Father," she said blankly one day. "Basically, the sacrifices must be killed the same way as these witches. Right, Father?"

"That's right."

"And what if they aren't?"

"Then it doesn't count."

"Oh." She stared at the worn old book. "Well, then… father, what if we run out of sacrifices?"

"We just try again." He'd smiled warmly at her. "It's always been like this, Frieda. What do you think those witches were killed for?"

"Oh." She nodded. "Right. I see. So they were killed for the ritual, right? But, father, if that's right, then why do we have to do it again now?"

"Because it didn't work." Her father stared at her. He sighed. "The ritual is very particular about these things. First of all, those women were all killed within a few days of each other. The three sacrifices must be killed once every seven years. In order to ensure the power is being transferred, the catalyst- that's you, Frieda- must be present, and prior to the offering, must consume the blood of the sacrifice."

"Ew," she murmured, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"Well, that's just how it is."

"Why didn't you do it, father?" she asked curiously. "Or did it not work for you?"

Her father looked bitter now, his eyes flashing away from her face. She realized she must have misspoken, because he stood from his armchair and whirled away from her.

"Only a woman can complete the ritual."

"Uh. That's weird." She grimaced a little bit, watching her father's back as he stared into their fireplace. "Why?"

"It's just how it is."

"That's stupid!"

"Mind your tongue, Frieda."

She clamped her mouth shut, her cheeks burning in shame.

* * *

"Ah…" Armin pulled his head from her grasping hands, holding it in his hands. She stared at him vacantly. "This is weird… why am I kinda just getting like… flickers of images of events and stuff? It wasn't like this with Levi."

"That's because Levi possessed you." Frieda sounded bored. "I'm just showing you what happened so I don't have to explain all this bullshit."

Armin was still feeling sleepy. He couldn't explain it, but he was certain that he was trapped somewhere, and everything was stiff and immobile. Even though, of course, he'd just proven he could move his arms. He wished he could get out of here, because he knew there was important stuff he had to do, but nothing was coming to mind.

"Do you know where I am?" he asked vacantly.

"Kenny's basement." Frieda yawned. "You really are out of it, aren't you? Well, I guess that's normal."

Armin squinted. He couldn't quite make out the shapes of the room, but what Frieda was saying made sense. He was so cold, and it was so dark, so of course he was in that awful basement again. Why not?

"I must have been knocked out," he murmured.

Frieda glanced at him. She hummed, and she offered out her hands.

"I have lots more to show you," she said. "You're beginning to understand, right?"

"I think so." Armin was too sleepy. Why was he so damn sleepy? He couldn't properly connect with any other senses. Not smell. Not touch. Not sight. He was isolated in this box of numbness, and it was terrifying. He couldn't even use his logic to sort out what had happened to him, because his head was filled with cotton, stuffed up to the brim, and he felt like someone had disassembled him, leaving all his limbs useless and limp. "A goddess. Why did I never think of that?"

"It's not really a normal assumption to come by, kiddo," Frieda said gently. Her gauzy eyes were dull, but even so they'd somehow softened as she gazed at him. "Don't beat yourself up over it. Some mysteries can't be solved. Sometimes it's good to just be told, you know?"

"I'm really disappointed in myself though…" Armin bowed his head, and he sighed. "I thought I was getting somewhere…"

"Let me show you more." Frieda sounded a little desperate this time, which confused him. What did a ghost have to be desperate about?

"Uh…" Armin didn't know what to do. But there was nothing, really, that he could do. So he leaned forward obediently, his eyes drooping heavily, and he let Frieda's cold fingers rake through his hair.

* * *

"Ahh…" Frieda had been about ten. Her hair had been shorn short that year, dancing in a neat bob around her chin as she cocked her head at the tiny boy in her drawing room. He sat quietly, his eyes glazed in a kind of far-off stupor, his skin waxy and sallow. He looked underfed and scrawny. Like he was just about on the verge of fading away. "You must be the sacrifice."

He raised his dull eyes to hers. He had a slim face, hollowed out by stress or trauma or both. He was sitting overwhelmingly still, as though he were a porcelain doll that had been draped in crisp, pretty looking clothes, and then propped up for no reason other than to be observed. His hair was a dark mop upon his pasty little head, hair falling into his bruised eyes, twisted around protruding ears and slipping against his nose as he mirrored her, cocking his head to the side.

"Sacrifice…?" He didn't look or sound confused. Merely empty. Was that strange? She couldn't know. But he sat in his propped up position, like a pole had been inserted through the skin of his lower back and bound to his spine to keep him upright.

"Ha ha, whoops." She sat upon the table parallel to his chair, her jean skirt scraping against her thighs as she kicked her feet up. "Was that a secret? My bad. Did you really not know?"

"Know?" The boy looked at her, his hands wringing in his lap. He was wearing an ironed white button down tucked into knee length black shorts. He had trouble meeting her eye, his gauzy stare falling short of her face and growing unfocused as he looked at her. "Know what? I don't understand what you mean by 'sacrifice.'"

"I'd think it'd be obvious," Frieda snickered behind her hand, watching the boy sink low into his seat, his posture finally slipping in shame. "Wow. So you really didn't know? That's so weird!"

"I don't get it," he whispered, his dull eyes going wide. "What's so weird? If anything, you're the weird one…"

"Doesn't anyone tell you anything?" Frieda laughed, kicking her legs into the air and leaning back excitedly. "Oh man! You don't even know you're gonna die!"

"What?"

The boy didn't sound so scared. Or shocked, really. It was a flat, vacant response.  _What do you mean?_  That was the sort of voice he used.  _What are you talking about?_  It was just too funny!

"You are going to die!" Frieda pushed off the table, falling lightly on her bare feet, and she jerked her index finger in his face. He frowned at her, pushing her arm away sharply. "You should start to accept it. Someday, maybe sometime soon, maybe in a few decades, you're gonna get done in by either a great big fire, or swallowed up by water, or if you're  _really_  unlucky…" She redirected her finger to the ivory hilted dagger sitting upon the fireplace mantle. "You'll get spliced up by that!"

The boy followed her gaze. His frown only deepened. "That flimsy old thing?" he asked. "Sure. Okay."

Frieda took personal offense to his incredulity. "What?" she sneered. "You think it won't kill you? Dang, you're a real dingus, huh?"

"That's just for decoration," the boy told her coolly. "You're just trying to scare me. You must be related to that rich bastard who lives here, right? Making you a rich bitch." He rose to his feet, unsurprisingly very small at his full height. He was almost a whole head shorter than her. "Leave me alone."

She was super offended, honestly, when he brushed past her, his head held high in spite of the clear fact that he had no idea what was happening around him.

"No way!" Frieda snatched him by the arm and dragged him to a stop. "You should listen to me! It'd be so much better for you if you listened, y'know? Maybe it'll hurt less!"

"You're crazy." The boy yanked his arm from her, stumbling backwards and bumping against a wall. Even then she could tell he was terrified. "I don't believe a word you say, lady, so you can just keep your bull away from me, thanks!" He whirled around, nearly tripping over himself, and he fled the room.

She did not know where he ran off to. She didn't try to find him. After all, it wasn't her problem. If he died painfully, why should she care? She'd eventually share the same fate in some way or another, right? Why should she care?

But she did. She felt immensely guilty. She'd heard the boy's screams from down the hall when his father had finally found him, hiding out in some little alcove near the staircase. The sound of fists meeting soft flesh resounded across the whole house, echoing against ramparts and marble flooring and antique stained glass.

She sat on the cold wooden floor of her room, her back against her bed and her lips against her knees, her arms hugging them tight to her chest as she tried to block out the sound of that poor boy's pleas.

He begged. And begged. And begged.

"I don't understand—!" A meaty smack. "I… please… I…" Another. This one louder. Heavier. There might've been a crunch to it, a bone shifting beneath the pressure of knuckles. Whimpering carried along the floors and shifted through the walls, and it was all she could hear. How maddening.

Her door burst open. She didn't look up.

"Frieda."

She pressed her lips harder into her knees, her teeth grazing her skin.

"Frieda, get up. We need this room."

She raised her eyes. The boy was slung over the shoulder of that awful man, the one with the mullet and the perpetual sneer. He was just such an obvious jackass, it made her sick that he was in her room.

What had they done?

Her whole world view seemed to shift in that moment as she was yanked roughly to her feet by her father, the skin of her forearms stinging from the brush burn as she stumbled, her eyes flashing to the boy's beaten, bloodied face as she was dragged from the room. She caught sight of him being laid onto her bed.

In the end, she'd done nothing to help him.

And, in the end, she'd realized she couldn't really live her whole life sitting on the sidelines and waiting for the inevitable destruction of the entire world.

Especially when others had to suffer for it.

For her.

* * *

Armin found himself gasping, as though he'd been submerged beneath water and broke the surface for air. He took great gulps, his fingers pressing to his chest, and he relished in the cool inhalation. Frieda watched him with such distinct pity that it made his skin crawl.

He didn't need her damn pity.

"Levi…" Armin sunk, his shoulders slumping and his eyes growing wide. "He said he didn't know you…"

"He never knew my name," Frieda explained curtly. She was still watching him with a hint of pity in her hollow, glassy eyes, and it made Armin sick to see. "Plus, I doubt he considered me much in life or death. He's pretty self-involved, you know?"

"Yeah…" Armin found himself hugging his knees to his chest and staring vacantly into the darkness around him. It was just so dim. He wanted to sink into the darkness and disappear altogether. It was so strange. The longing seemed to envelope him, devouring his insides and leaving him even hollower than he'd been at the start. How? How could that even be possible?

He wanted the emptiness to just take over.

It was an instinct, really.

Fall into the abyss.

It was where he belonged now.

"This is hard on you," Frieda observed.

"I'm just wrapping my head around it, I think." Armin's own voice seemed so feeble, like it was barely scraping the air. He was aware of the whispery sound. Tiny breaths beating upon the back of time, begging, pleading, wishing dearly for just one more chance.

"Is it too much?" Frieda sounded nervous. Unsure. It made him curious, really. Why was she acting like this?

Armin was beginning to recall.

He skittered away from her.

"You…!" He held his head, recollecting the fog and the street and the haze of the night as it crept on him. "Eren… oh my god. What's… what's happening…?" He wanted to lie down and sleep for a thousand years.

"Why don't you calm down," Frieda suggested. "Eren's fine. Well, right now, at least. I think he's sleeping. If we're lucky, he won't wake up until all of this blows over."

"What do you mean?"

"Let that boy rest in peace," Frieda warned.

He wanted to object. He was so confused, and he wanted to understand.

"You're a really… really awful person, aren't you?" he whispered, growing more and more apprehensive with every passing moment.

She did not respond. It was as though she couldn't. As though she simply had no real response.

Frieda offered out her hands, and Armin realized quickly he didn't want them. He jerked away from her, and she frowned.

"If you want to stay in the dark," she said calmly, "fine. But let me give you a fair warning— you may never come out."

Her words made him freeze. A shudder ran through him, and he couldn't explain why he was suddenly so fucking terrified.

Without any will to resist, he allowed her to reach out and rest her thumbs against his temples, grasping his head and letting her nails dig into his scalp.

He felt the pressure, but none of the pain.

* * *

The phone was ringing in the kitchen, a far off sound that broke her from her reverie, her mouth around the lip of a bong, her shoulders rising in tension. The taste that crawled through her mouth and scratched the back of her throat was like chewing on a bit of sweetgrass, reminding her of earlier days when things had been easy and she would have died happily, would have spilled blood happily.

"Shouldn't you go get that?"

The boy sitting across from her was a year or two younger than her. Fourteen? Fifteen? God, she didn't even know. She probably might have felt bad about toying with him if he had even the slightest interest in her. They'd kissed a few times, made out on her couch or with his back pressed up to a white column on the long, vacuous veranda, but his movements felt very mechanical, and he always pushed her away first. Whatever he was interested in, it wasn't her body, that was for sure. She was beginning to sense that he only let her do the things she did because it amused her, and he could risk a little humiliation to get what he wanted.

What was that, she wondered.

So she hummed, handing him the bong and springing to her feet. The room wasn't really spinning so much as she was bouncing, the balls of her feet beating like drums inside her ears as she moved through the mansion's labyrinthine halls, her fingernails scraping the walls as she stumbled into the kitchen. She snatched the phone from the wall, the smooth, baby blue enameled receiver weighing heavily in her palm.

"Yo," she greeted with a clipped little spring to her voice, her eyes flitting around the dark kitchen and seeing the stark outlines of pans and pots in the sink. She'd have to have the housekeeper do away with those when she wasn't utterly trashed. Through the cookie cutter rectangular window she could see the sweet blue sky, white fading into aquamarine with burnt salmon clouds garnishing the washed out hues. Sunset was turning the world into a hazy orange afterglow, sucking the color into one outrageous hue and sucking the sight from her eyes. She wanted to bathe in that glow. To kick off her shorts and tear off her shirt and let the acidwash sky suck her in, an ocean above and a pit below, and she'd sink into outer space until it spat her out like the trash she was, washed up on the orange glow pavement with stardust kissing her bare skin.

"Yo," she repeated, tipping her head so it rested against the dark wall, beside the mounted phone. Her dark hair was burnt orange in the dying daylight, and it curtained her face, soft and smooth.

"- _llo? HEY? Frieda, are you even fucking listening to me?_ "

"Sorry, dude," Frieda laughed, raking her fingers through the sunset strings that pooled against her skin. "You were saying something, right?"  _Because I really do care_ , she thought, slipping her index finger through the spiral phone cord and twirling it thoughtlessly.  _Really, really, truly, truly, I do, I do, I really do. Tell me more_.

" _I was just calling to say_ ," the guy on the other line, an unrecognizable, irrelevant little voice, " _that the boy you've been telling me to keep out a watch on, he's gonna be racing tonight_."

"Yeah?" She yawned, and she hid a giggle behind her hand as though he might see her snickering. "Oh my gosh, no way. Where at?"

" _The Strip, Frieda_." The boy, whoever he was, gave a very sharp sigh. " _Jeez. Of course I called you when you're high. Go take a cold shower, you dumb ass bitch_."

"I'll fucking be there, so quit harping at me," she sneered, slamming the heavy receiver back onto the hook on the wall.

She marched back into the living room, checking her reflection in the mirror mounted on the wall next to the yawning archway that was the entrance. Her hair was a bit scraggly, and it didn't fall as limply as she would've liked, but it would have to do. It was cold outside, she recalled. She frowned at her bare legs, and she let a drowsy sigh fall from her lips.

"Erwin," she gasped, spinning on the balls of her feet and leaning forward eagerly. "You can drive, right? Awesome." She noticed that he was sitting with a tiny blonde toddler in his lap. "Oh, what the fuck?"

Erwin calmly covered the girl's ears, and he shot Frieda a bemused look. "I didn't know you had siblings," he said.

"Yeah." Well, shit. She blew her hair out her eyes and scowled at the delighted little girl in Erwin's lap. She was clearly very happy, soft pops of giggles escaping her small, parted lips. Erwin was holding her very gingerly, his hands resting against her head, blocking her tiny ears. "Anyway, so I can  _probably_ just give you the directions and stuff. Unless you've been to the Strip before."

"The Strip." He watched her, his sharp eyes growing curious. "I've been there before, yes."

"Oh, good!" She smiled at him, and she knew it looked venomous. She felt venomous, honestly. "You like racing, then?"

"I'm actually a racer." He lowered his hands letting the little girl grip them with her chubby little fingers. He smiled down at her, mirroring her hand movements until she let out a shriek of delight, bouncing excitedly in his lap. "She's cute. What's her name?"

"Ask her yourself," Frieda snapped, scowling at him as he watched her dully. "She's not as young as she looks, you know. She can fucking speak."

"Freeeee…" The girl's voice was as soft and sweet and sickly saccharine as buttermilk icing. "Free- _duh_. You're being so mean!"

"Go to your room." Frieda didn't have the time for this. She smoothed her hair away from her face. She didn't know where the bong went. Stupid Erwin must've hid it when he saw a child, like such a fucking goody-goody.

Had that not been why she'd gotten on with him in the first place?

Ugh, she needed to re-evaluate her life choices.

"I'm Erwin," Erwin said to the girl gently. "What's your name?"

"Historia," the child sang happily, lacing her arms around Erwin's neck. "I've seen you here before. Lots and lots."

"I didn't even know you were here." Erwin smiled, and Frieda couldn't help but stare. He was smiling so warmly, and his eyes lit up so brightly, and she realized that this boy was fucking trouble. He put on an act far better than she did. He hid behind a mask of courtesies, and he smiled gently, but no matter how he looked, it was clear now that none of that was real. He'd never smiled at her before. Not like he was smiling at Historia.

"That's because she's not even supposed to be here," Frieda sighed, leaning her head back. "Historia. Go back to your room. Now."

"But…" Historia looked sad. It made Frieda's stomach squirm.

"You'll get in trouble if you stay out here," Frieda said calmly. "You know that."

Historia seemed to consider that for a moment. She was clearly upset, and she looked as though she were about to fight, but Frieda's face must've convinced her to listen. So she got up off Erwin's lap, and she wandered out of the room. Erwin stared after her. Then his eyes moved sharply to Frieda's face.

"Why is no one watching her?" he asked sharply. "She's a little girl, Frieda, she needs to be cared for!"

"The housekeeper is around here somewhere." Frieda rolled her eyes. She knew how bad it looked. She knew how bad it was. But what else could she do? Historia shouldn't even exist, really. Frieda was pretty damn positive that her little sister was just a backup in case Frieda somehow failed. That was a sickening thought. "So…? Are you up for the drive?"

"I don't want to leave Historia alone," he said coldly.

"She's not alone, though!" Frieda clapped her hand against her forehead. "Jeez! I'll go call the housekeeper. Are you always this useless? She's just a stupid little girl, she's fine on her own."

"She's a child." Erwin's eyes narrowed at her. "Are you always this vapid and selfish, Frieda?"

"Yep." She popped the "P" and shot him a great big grin. "Don't take it personally, Erwin. I just hate that icky "feeling" shit. It really brings me down."

"You're ridiculous."

"Can't deny it," she laughed brightly.

She left him to quickly dress in warmer clothes, and when she came back he was standing up, waiting for her. He did not glare, but he seemed to look through her as he stared.

"I found your housekeeper," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "She's taking care of Historia now. Why is she being treated so badly?"

"Because she's my dad's mistake, and he's ashamed of her." Frieda looked him in the eye, and she shot him a feral grin. "You wanna know the whole fucking story, Erwin? I might have to kill you if I tell you, just a fair warning."

"I don't need an excruciatingly detailed novelization of your shitty home life, Frieda," he sighed. "I just want to know why this girl is being mistreated."

"She's not," Frieda lied easily. "Honestly, she's fine. Can we go now?"

Erwin glanced at her. It was clear he wasn't convinced, but whatever.

"Did you even take a hit," she found herself wondering aloud in the car as they drove toward the strip. They'd be early, but that was fine. She planned on having Erwin participate in the race and betting on him.

"I might have," he admitted, "if Historia hadn't walked in. You know it's dangerous to keep drugs like that so close to kids, right?"

"Boo fucking hoo," she yawned. "Anyways. So you just have to beat one guy, honestly. Beat him real good. You can use this car, I don't care if you crash it."

"I appreciate that." He didn't look at her. "I suppose being rich does have its perks."

"Yeah, sometimes it pays off." She stared at the dirt road, her exhalation sending a cloud of mist upon the window. "I could have stolen one of my dad's coats for you, you know."

"It's fine." He parked the car. "I'll need to have a word with the organizer. Do you want me to leave the car on?"

"Sure, man, knock yourself out."

In the end she was just a desperate fool.

She wanted to make Levi's life miserable.

Of course, she'd only really do it from afar. That was easier. She'd be like some kind of death fairy. Bringer of death. Whatever.

It'd be for the best if he just died already, wouldn't it?

He'd suffer less if he died.

 _Just die_ , she thought numbly, meeting the reflection of her eyes in the rearview mirror.  _Die, die, die, die_.

Suddenly her door was being yanked open.

"Whoa!" she yelped, stumbling out of the car as Erwin dragged her into the bitter night air.

"You didn't tell me I was racing Levi," he said in one breath. His cheeks were reddened, likely by the weather, but he seemed flustered. She tilted her head confusedly.

"You know him?" She smiled thinly. "Oh. My bad, I guess. Beat him good, won't you?" She patted him on the shoulder and kicked her door closed. She hummed idly as she tore her arm from his grasp and strolled on out into the crowd of spectators.

"I don't want to race Levi," Erwin called after her. "I'll throw the race!"

She stopped. Oh, no. That wouldn't do at all.

She turned on her heel, gravel and dust scraping beneath her soles, and she smiled at him vacantly.

"You won't." She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her coat. They were already beginning to feel the strength of the nipping weather. "Do you think I'm really stupid? I know you don't like me. I don't like you much either. So whatever beef you have with this kid, I'm not all that shocked." She stepped forward, her movements slow. Lethargic. She was still sucking up the dregs of her high, relishing in the freedom it gave her. She could ruin so many lives just by numbing her own.

"I just don't want to race him," Erwin said calmly, staring her down as she smirked at him. "We live in the same town. I'd rather limit the awkwardness between us, frankly."

"That's him over there, isn't it?" Frieda feigned ignorance, turning her face toward the short boy in oversized jeans stuffed into a pair of dusty combat boots, his hair shaggy and dull in the floodlights. "I should go introduce myself. How does, "Erwin Smith's girlfriend" sound to you?"

He stared at her. He kept his face irrationally calm, but she knew she'd struck him there. He must've been so pissed. It should have made her feel satisfied, but she really only felt empty.

"Don't do that," he said.

"Why not?" She laughed at him, watching her laughter bubble in a swirling mist upon the air. "Like it's a lie, or something? Well, I guess it is. We don't care about each other that much. But we have fooled around enough, you know?" She sighed loftily. "It'd be enough to convince anyone you're actually straight."

"You think I care what people think my sexuality is?" He smiled back at her, and it was eerily sharp and distinctly poisonous. "Rumors are healthy for one's social image. A flaky spoiled brat like you should understand that. Good or bad, I don't care. People are always talking. And if it's about me, who am I to complain?" He brushed past her. "I'm throwing the race. If you're going to bet, bet on Levi."

She watched his back as he walked right on by Levi, who must have heard at least part of the conversation, and rounded her car. She was bitter. She was pissed.

Levi won. Just as to be expected.

She wasn't really keen on letting a prime opportunity to make this boy miserable slip through her fingers.

No.

In hindsight, she felt guilty about it.

She wasted a pretty expensive haul of drugs mixing the concoctions to perfection, but when she was done, she knew it'd work. She strolled up to Erwin and Levi, who were chatting rather amiably away from the ravers. This wasn't unusual, for a race to turn into a rave. It was just how these things went.

"I just wanted to offer my congratulations," she said, offering out the two cups to them. They were sitting on the hood of Levi's camaro. Erwin was staring at her. Levi simply took the drink without a word. If he recognized her, he didn't show it. "And… my apology. I'm sorry for earlier, Erwin."

He took the cup, but continued to stare her down.

"Apology accepted," he said in a clipped voice. She wondered if he'd even be able to tell that she'd slipped him a cocktail of what essentially was a roofied beer but with less of a punch. She didn't want either of them to black out or realize that they'd been under the influence of some heavy duty drugs.

Anyway, she left them to it.

And regretted it instantly.

She considered turning around and whacking the drinks out of their hands, but then Erwin would really never talk to her again, and Levi wouldn't have the terrible time in life that would push him to realize he was pretty much already dead.

He never confided what had happened that night, but she knew.

She'd orchestrated it, after all.

* * *

Armin shoved her away from him. He shoved her so hard, he thought she might fall back against the ground, but of course she didn't. Of course.

"You drugged them," he gasped, holding his forehead and heaving deep breaths. "Oh my god. Oh my god, what the fuck? Why? Why would you do something that fucking sick?"

"I needed Levi to hate himself," she said simply.

"Why?" Armin was on the verge of tears, and he didn't know why, but it was so, so awful. It was all so awful. "He already hated himself! He struggled with depression, like really bad! He hardly knew who he was half the time, literally, so why…?"

"I thought I was doing the right thing," Frieda said vacantly. "Ending his suffering early."

"You just made him suffer more," Armin whispered. "You… you literally just fucked him up so bad… oh god, he thought he'd been raped, Frieda! You idiot!"

"I felt bad about it." Frieda looked sad. "I know now what Kenny was doing to him. If I had known then, I probably would have taken a different approach. I made an awful choice."

"You keep making awful choices," he hissed. "You still keep causing Historia pain! Even after all this time!"

"I love Historia," Frieda said defensively.

"Then why do you keep trying to kill her?" Armin shook his head furiously. "No. I won't buy any of this bullshit. No way. You're a fucking lunatic, just like your father."

"Don't say that…"

"Where is Eren?" Armin demanded. "What happened? What happened to me? I remember… talking to you, right? And you told me it was a trap!"

"It was," Frieda sighed.

"So I was kidnapped, right?" Armin wanted to cry. So he cried. The tears were there, he felt them, he did, he felt them fat and wet as they rolled down his cheeks. "Figures! Of course. Of course I got kidnapped! I'm so useless. Now I'm going to be fucking bait, or something. Oh my god…"

"I'm sorry, Armin."

"No you're not!" He shot her a furious glare. "You're not sorry about anything! You don't feel anything at all, do you?"

She looked taken aback. Hurt.

"I feel things, Armin," she whispered.

"You have a funny way of showing it," he spat. Tears were flowing down his cheeks, and they wouldn't stop even when he tried to wipe them away.

"You know it won't work like that," Frieda murmured.

"Work like what?"

He heard a distant pounding sound. Feet clapping against steps. He raised his head, blinking into the darkness. The basement was filled suddenly with a hazy light. He could see the outlines of two figures. Two women.

Mikasa was clutching Historia close to her, looking around with wild eyes.

"He's not here," Historia murmured, tugging up her turtleneck around her nose. "Come on, let's go. It stinks down here, and it's creepy, and I think Kenny will be back soon."

"I'm not leaving without Armin!"

"Uh oh." Frieda leaned back. "Sounds like my time's up. I really am sorry, kiddo."

"I'm sitting right here…" Armin tried to stand up, but he found he was too tired. "Mikasa! Hey, Mikasa!"

"She can't hear you." Frieda's head was bowed. Her stringy hair curtained her pretty, discolored face.

He found himself frozen, the revelation beginning to dawn on him as Mikasa continued to turn about rapidly, looking panicked, looking uncertain. Was it beginning to dawn on her as well? The harsh reality of it all?

"Oh," Armin uttered shakily, feeling that he'd been hurtled into a cavernous pit and forced to fall and fall and fall for all eternity. "I… I get it now."

Frieda raised her head. There were tears glistening in her large, gauzy eyes. His own gaze echoed hers, his pallid reflection glimmering on the glassy surface. Death clouded both their eyes and settled there.

"I'm dead," Armin realized, feeling a strange absence of emotion as he spoke. "I died. Didn't I?" He smiled a jerky, tremulous smile. More tears began to fall, and there was no end to them. They could, in fact, simply fall for eternity and then some. "Didn't I…?"

In his utter horror, he let out a wail of grief. For all that he'd lost already. For all he hadn't realized he could lose.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand, that's a wrap aside from the epilogue! which is really nothing special. this is the final chapter.

**how wide the world is**

His head was all in a fog, like it'd been stuffed with clouds and cotton, brimming with nothing but fluff and brine. Like a soggy old teddy bear that had been washed up on the beach. It felt awful. He felt awful. The world was off kilter, off center, off its axis, and he was bound and gagged and hurling through the soul sucking vacuum of space.

Past the stars and the nebulae and the clusters of far off planets and the trailing comets and the vacuous eye of a supermassive black hole.

What would it feel like to hurl himself through the center and get dragged down into oblivion?

He'd find out soon enough.

Why did the world look so fucked up?

It was all bleary and bleeding, grays and yellows melting together into eerie blobs, leaving him dizzy and sickened. He drew in a breath, and it sent a fire of pain licking down his chest, stirring in his stomach and causing all his muscles to cramp up.

He shouted, but the sound didn't reach his ears. The sound didn't even leave his mouth.

It hit a wad of cloth stuffed between his jaws, resting on his tongue, and shot back into his throat. He nearly gagged.

What was this?

What was happening?

He couldn't move. His limbs were stuck, and he was growing panicked in the haze that had enveloped him. This was familiar. Stuck to a chair, his wrists bound, his head in a whirlwind of panic and shock. All his logic had found a home in the empty space above his head, leaking out his ears and eyes and mouth and leaving him with nothing but jarring terror.

When he thought back, all he could recall was the desperate need to find Eren.

Was that it? Was Eren in trouble?

Armin had to get out of here. Where was he? Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god...

He felt like he was completely removed from his senses, like there as a fog muffling his nerves and causing the reception to his brain to become all fuzzy. This was all so wrong. He knew there had to be a way out, right? There had to be. He just had to think! Think a way out! That was all he was good for, anyway, just thinking up solutions, so now was the time to use his head and get out of this goddamn mess!

But his head was filled with nothing but haze, and he couldn't think a way out of his own mind, let alone the bindings attached to his wrists and ankles.

"Wakey, wakey," a distant voice chuckled, rhythms bouncing through the clouds and landing on his brain like a fly flitting along the surface of a lake. "Mornin', sunshine. Enjoying the view?"

His mouth was dry, and the gag was digging into the corners of his lips as he squirmed in discomfort. He was having trouble distinguishing the voice, as though someone was shouting from across a great stretch of land and he was desperately trying to hear a voice that had been caught by the wind and sent sailing in the opposite direction.

"Mmmph…" His voice was muffled against the gag, and he tilted his head back uncertainly. The room smelled musty and dank. A basement, he realized numbly. He was in a basement!

"You must be so confused," the voice continued. A silhouette was floating in the haze of his vision, a black blot in the sea of gray and brown and yellow. "Can you understand me? Nod if yes."

The amount of effort it took to simply raise his head and drop it made his head spin. He was sick to death of this fear and confusion, this hazy world and these numb emotions. He had all this pent up tension inside him, so much that he needed to shout, but there was a gag fastened firmly to his lips, and he was too lethargic to care.

"Good, good." The silhouette was growing more concrete. It was a man. He was hovering over Armin, twirling something bright, something shiny that flickered in the dim yellow light. Armin was sick with a revelation.

That was a knife.

"Did you think you'd really get away with that little stunt, Armin?" Kenny asked, snatching Armin by the face. His nails dug painfully into the tender skin beneath Armin's cheekbones, and his eyes widened. The gag was loosened slightly. Armin tongued it until it slipped over his lips, and he gathered the spittle and phlegm from the back of his throat. He spat into Kenny's face.

"Fuck you," Armin rasped, his whole body rattling as the drugs fizzled out in the course of his veins. He was feeling nothing and rapidly feeling everything and it was so disorienting that he wanted to cry and scream and die.

Kenny's fist smashed into Armin's cheek, the force of the blow wailing in Armin's ears a pain broke through the wall of haze and smoke that filled up his brain. His chair was sent flying onto its side, and Armin was left painfully attached to it, his throbbing face sticking to the protective plastic that had been laid out beneath him. His hair gathered in his eyes, fluffy and light, and he coughed, pain bubbling up in the front of his head. He spat, and blood sprayed out, flecking his eyes and cheeks and hair and the plastic that covered the cement floor.

"You don't really learn, do you?" Kenny snatched him by the hair, the stress of his who body being lifted by it sending his scalp aflame. He cried out, blood pooling in his mouth and gathering on his lips. The chair was pushed upright, and Armin blinked the white stars from his cloudy vision, feeling that his head was in space while his body was in hell. "Let me just break it down for you."

Something popped. Multiple somethings, in a succession.

Armin watched a few buttons go flying. He realized that his shirt had been ripped open.

The tip of Kenny's knife was pointed at him, bouncing from left to right. "Eenie meenie miney mo…"

Armin's eyes widened. _Oh_ , he thought as the knife came slashing down on his right shoulder, slashing a thick line into his flesh. The pain didn't register at first, so he merely listened to the wet sound of skin splitting. It made his whole body tense up, and he felt like his soul had been forced away, like he was watching this as a spectator.

When the pain came tumbling onto him, he didn't scream so much as he stuttered and gasped and then, with one great puff of air, shrieked shrilly. The sound seemed to be unreal, like a garbled voice beneath water. The acoustics in the basement were poor.

"You get it now?" Kenny's hands were gloved, Armin realized as they lifted his chin. Tears had gathered in his eyes, welling up and spilling out, expelling his pain as he shook and gasped and shook and gasped. "I don't need you. You're just a liability. So…" Kenny's knife bit into Armin's other shoulder, and this time a horrible scream fell from Armin's lips, beating at his lungs and rumbling inside his chest. He heard nothing but his own voice and felt nothing but the cold sawing of the knife, pain lacing through him, like spidery legs against his nerves. "I'm gonna just cut you up. Kay?"

Armin swallowed thickly, coughing huffs of breaths and spitting blood, tears gathering up inside his mouth. The taste was salty and metallic, and he couldn't think clearly with the clashing sensations of pain resonating all over his body.

"You should know," Kenny said, the flat of the knife dragging down Armin's bicep. "I'm not just killing you for no reason. You have to understand, you're basically all that's keeping Mikasa fighting."

Armin listened to his unbearably harsh screech as the knife found the crook of his elbow, and cut right into it.

"So, I guess it's your own fault. Being friends with her?" The knife slashed the other elbow, and all Armin smelled was the thick, acrid scent of blood, and all he felt was the agony that was threading his nerves. "It's a death sentence."

"S-stop," Armin sobbed, "please—"

"Please?"

The blood was seeping into the white cotton shirt. He saw it spreading, red, red, red, pooling underneath the cloth and staining the tiny fibers as it kept moving on and on, no time to stop, because more blood kept coming. He was sick. He was going to vomit.

"Is the pain too much?" Kenny's face wasn't even visible. He was just a blur. A blur in the great cluster of tears and stars that gathered inside Armin's eyes. "You want it to stop?"

Armin couldn't speak. He couldn't breathe.

This wasn't fair.

Mikasa… she was… she going to be devastated… she'd be so broken if he died… when he died…

It just wasn't fair to her!

Hadn't he promised he'd be back? Hadn't he?

He was so stupid. Why? Why had this all happened?

He should've been a better friend from the beginning.

The knife was dragging toward his wrists.

Blood was spilling out from his shoulders and elbows and the pain was reaching his head and filling him up. The clouds and the cotton and the haze were all electric now, sending pulses through his brain.

"Please…" he whispered, blood in his words and lacing his tongue and dribbling down the corner of his lips.

The knife drew back.

It kissed his throat, and sawed his neck right open.

* * *

Dead.

Dead, dead, dead, dead.

He was dead.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Armin whispered, holding his head in his hands. Frieda sighed. Mikasa and Historia were still in the basement. They were clinging to each other, fearing the other might wander off and disappear like Armin had.

"It's not an easy thing to accept, Armin," the girl said softly. She reminded him of Historia a bit, but the difference was clear. Historia had never drugged anyone out of spite before. Historia had never hurt anyone, in spite of all of her secrets and all of her lies. All Historia had ever done was let other people rule her life and control her, and that didn't make her a bad person. Just sad.

"You should have told me!" Armin covered his face with his hands. "I thought- I thought I was still alive! Oh my god. Oh my god, Mikasa can't know! She can't!"

"She's going to realize it, Armin," Frieda said gently. "This was Kenny's plan, after all."

Armin couldn't imagine that this was real. It didn't feel real. He didn't feel dead-dead, but in reality, he did not feel much at all. He straightened up, and he touched his throat. There was a rather obscenely large gash there. He resisted the urge to burst into tears.

"I don't want to be dead," Armin whispered. "I- I-!"

"Do you honestly think anyone likes being stuck like this?" Frieda snapped. "Just get over it! You died. You're a ghost. Though, not for long. You weren't part of the ritual, so you don't really belong here. You'll probably get your ticket to the afterlife soon."

"No," Armin gasped, shaking his head furiously. "No way! I can't leave yet! Mikasa-"

"She's pretty much dead in the water. No pun intended." Frieda hummed, glancing over at Mikasa and Historia, who'd taken to shuffling through shelves on the walls to look for clues on where Armin might be. _I'm right here_ , he wanted to scream. But they wouldn't hear him. So what was the point?

"Don't say that," Armin whispered covering his mouth shakily. "Oh my god. No, no, no! We have to stop this!"

"Um, I've been _trying_?" Frieda rolled her eyes. "You wanna take a stab at trying to kill Historia? Just kidding, you're not even a low level poltergeist, you could never."

Armin gripped his hair, trying to think of a solution for this. Kenny. He had to make Kenny die!

"Can't you just possess Kenny?" Armin asked, whirling on Frieda. "Kill him instead! He's the problem, not Historia!"

"My haunting style doesn't really affect Kenny much," Frieda sighed. "It's more to drive people up the wall. Or, more accurately, drag them down the stairs. Possessing people isn't my strong suit."

"Fuck!" Armin stamped his feet. He realized that he was standing on a tarp. Beneath the stairs. He looked down at it. Then he looked at Frieda. "Please don't tell me I'm standing on my corpse."

She smiled weakly.

Armin screamed for real this time. He threw his head back, and he screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed, and he realized he could scream forever because he had no need to stop for air, so he screamed until Frieda smacked him.

"God, will you shut up, you banshee?" She held her hands over her ears and scowled at him. "They actually might hear you. Which is a fucking riot, because you shouldn't be able to make contact at all with the living."

"I just died," Armin choked, shooting her a furious glare. "You want me to shut up? Go tell Mikasa it's a fucking trap!"

"Yeesh." Frieda rolled her eyes. "Fine, okay. Let me just get into character." Frieda took a deep breath. She tossed her hair over her face, and she began to sway from side to side. It was honestly funny to watch.

Armin watched as Historia snatched Mikasa's sleeve, yanking her back. Armin could see her breath as she exhaled, glancing around the basement rapidly.

"Something's here," she whispered.

Mikasa nodded hastily, shoving Historia back behind her, guarding her with one arm. Her eyes flashed wildly in the dark, flicking around the basement as Frieda lowered herself onto her hands, inching forward into a slow creep. Her long, stringy brown hair was swaying eerily, dragging against the dusty floor.

"Mikasa!" Historia gasped, spotting Frieda quickly. Even without her memories, she seemed to be attuned to exactly where her dead sister was, as though she could merely sense her presence.

"Stay behind me," Mikasa barked. "I'll deal with this."

"That's a ghost, Mikasa, you can't just fight it!" Historia frowned, and then she laughed weakly. "Can you?"

"Just stay back, okay?"

"But isn't that my sister?" Historia gasped, peeking over Mikasa's arm. "Shouldn't I try to… to talk her out of this?"

"This ghost it nuts, Historia." Mikasa sounded empty. Resigned. "There's no reasoning with it."

"Reason? No." Frieda's voice was suddenly rasping and guttural, as though she were choking on water clogging her throat. "If you had even a lick of sense you would know to go."

"What?" Historia blurted, ducking under Mikasa's arm and starting forward. Mikasa's face was, frankly, priceless. She looked exasperated and shocked. "What are you saying? Stop speaking in rhyme and tell us what you mean!"

"Historia, get behind me!" Mikasa snapped, snatching Historia by the arm before she could get any closer to Frieda.

"But she knows something!" Historia looked distant. Desperate and distant and dull. "Don't you see? She knows something we don't. Maybe she knows where Armin is!"

Frieda chuckled. It was a dark sound, something that bounced off the walls of the basement and shook Armin to his core.

"You should heed what I say," Frieda spat. "Or more than one will die today."

And with that she appeared back beside Armin, upright and yawning. "That's how you haunt, kiddo," she said, tossing her stringy hair over her shoulder and beaming down at him. "Not that you'll need to know, since you're just a random ass lost soul. Poor kiddo."

"What did she mean by that…?" Historia asked vacantly. She looked a little put out, her cheeks puffing and her eyebrows furrowing. She half turned around. "Mikasa?"

But Mikasa was frozen in place. Her eyes were wide and her face had drained of color. She looked suddenly sick, her whole body tensing as her mouth fell open.

"Mikasa…?" Historia tilted her head. There was a glimmer of concern in her voice, as though she was scared to fear for Mikasa, as though she didn't know if it was okay to even do such a thing. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Mikasa brushed off, shaking her hand off her arm and starting forward. She was moving at a lethargic pace, her limbs sort of dragging behind her as she moved. Right toward Armin.

"Oh no," Armin whispered, looking down at the tarp he was standing on. In? his feet had disappeared inside the covering. He didn't know. "Shit! Frieda, I didn't want this! I just wanted them to leave! Why couldn't you just scare them?"

"I _did_ scare them," Frieda scoffed.

"Clearly not enough!" Armin smacked her over the head, and she yelped. "You almost tore my throat out once! What the fuck was that? That was so fucking weak, I honestly feel _bad_ for you!"

"Okay, dude, will you like, cool it for a sec?" Frieda's forehead pinched, and she shook her head. "They'll figure out you're dead sooner or later. Why delay the inevitable?"

"Because she's going to be heartbroken!" Armin didn't want to see this. He didn't want to be here anymore.

And suddenly he wasn't.

He was standing in the middle of the forest. Why was that? Why the forest? He watched the sun filter through the leaves on the trees, and the breeze shake the branches to and fro.

He couldn't feel the warmth of the sunlight as it slithered across the dirt.

He couldn't feel the chill of the breeze as it snaked through the trees.

He felt suddenly very lonely.

He lowered himself to the ground, and he pulled his knees up to his chest. It was very sunny and bright. The birds were chirping above him, and there were flowers peeking out around the tree roots, little forget-me-nots blooming under the patches of sunshine.

What a beautiful day to be dead.

"Armin?"

This was probably to be expected. Why else would Armin come here? Subconsciously, he'd merely substituted one for the other. He hated this. Mikasa had realized, and now he was hiding from the consequences. He didn't want to see her face when she pulled back the tarp. When she saw what Kenny had done.

Armin buried his face in his knees. He didn't want Eren to see what Kenny had done either.

He couldn't win.

"Why are you here?" Eren sounded groggy and confused. "Did the plan work?"

He recalled the overwhelming terror of the previous night, when he'd thought Eren had been in trouble. In the end it had just been Levi. Levi, trapped under Kenny's thumb. And where was he now? After all, he was partially responsible for Armin's death. Was he hiding out, simply too ashamed to show his face?

The worst part was that Armin didn't even hate Levi for what he'd done.

Had he ever been in control, really? Had Levi ever really had a choice, had a life to begin with? No. He was blameless in this crime. Just another tool in Kenny's belt, utilized at just the right moment, when Armin's logic was slipping, when his mind was in shambles due to panic and stress. And the devastating thing was that Armin knew this would hurt Eren far more than anything he supposed _Frieda_ could've done.

"Hey." Eren was peering at him, suddenly at his side, his eyes big and bold and bright. "What's wrong?"

Armin didn't respond. How could he? After all, he was dead. And he feared Eren's inescapable wrath.

"Armin?" Eren's face was gleaming in its usual unearthly pallor, his jaw tightening as he squinted down at Armin's face. "I see your eyes, Armin. Come on, tell me what happened! Did something go wrong?"

Armin inhaled sharply.

"Yes," he whispered.

How terrible was this? Mikasa was probably having a panic attack over Armin's dead body, and all he could think about was getting far away from her, from Eren, from this terrible reality.

He wanted to stop existing all together.

Escaping seemed so easy. Like falling asleep.

He felt like he was falling backwards into a deep, velvety slumber. Away from all of the terror. All of the disgust and despair.

But without warning, he was dragged back, reality gripping him tightly by the biceps. Eren's fingernails were digging into Armin's bloody shirt, as though he could feel the pinching pain, as though that was something real. It almost felt real.

"Blood," Eren said faintly. "Armin... you're bleeding..."

Armin raised his face. It was tear-streaked and pallid. Gaunt with death, with the echo of his last scream etched into it forever. That must have looked so strange. So overwhelmingly strange. To be dead was so fucking strange! Like all his life had accumulated to this moment, this perpetual expression of distinct terror and agony. And Eren was here merely to bear witness.

And Eren looked, quite frankly, like he'd seen a ghost.

Armin's tears only fell faster, his mouth falling open and nothing coming out but a faint, rasping sigh. He wished this was different. He'd wished it had been different, hadn't he? That he was the dead one. Well, now his wish was granted. And what now?

Now they were both dead. Dead as can possibly be.

Eren saw that. With his two big, glistening green eyes, he gazed at the gash that had opened Armin's neck up and allowed him to step out of a life of perpetual turmoil, and into a death of perpetual numbness. He didn't think or feel, really. He was merely present, existing but not, on the same plane as Eren.

For once, they could really be together.

Eren tested this by thumbing the jagged flesh peeling back from Armin's throat.

"Your neck…" He seemed so distraught that he wasn't thinking straight, it seemed. "Hospital… you need to go to a hospital…"

"Eren…" Armin grasped Eren's hand, and found that though it didn't feel much like anything, it was almost warm. "I… I'm sorry, I—"

"Are we really touching?" Eren was staring at their clasped hands, looking paler and paler by the second.

Armin glanced down at Eren's fingers, slim but firm inside his own, and he nodded vacantly. He felt like he should've been happy about this. It was a rarity, an experience he hadn't truly felt in years, and yet he got no joy from it. He was stuck wishing for a solution, as though he could fix this, as though being dead was just another obstacle in his path. He could fix this. He could live again.

Couldn't he?

But of course he knew. He knew it was impossible, and he knew he was grasping at prayers that faded like wisps of smoke in the air.

He was dead now. That was something that needed to be accepted, needed to be understood. Death was new, and it was frightening, but regardless he had to persevere. There was still Mikasa. Still Historia. Still Jean, still Erwin, still Annie, still Hange. He had to push through this for them.

And then?

He dragged his thumb over the protrusions of Eren's knuckles. They didn't feel cold or warm. They didn't feel clammy or wet. They were soft, palms lying gingerly, fingers slack and trembling, as though they couldn't quite grasp what they were holding. As if they were waiting for Armin's fingertips to simply evaporate.

"I messed up," Armin choked, listening to his voice against the trees, echoing against the hollow sky and collapsing back on top of him with the weight of all his sorrows and all his fears and all his regrets. It piled atop his chest, and for a moment he thought it very hard to breathe. And then, with a heavy heart, he realized he had no reason to breathe at all.

Eren was still staring at his hand with the look of a prisoner starved of sunlight who had just caught a glimpse of the morning sky for the first time in decades.

"You're dead," Eren stated. His voice was monotonous, drawing from a sliver of breath and spat like something foul he'd found stuck to the back of his throat.

Armin knew he should be distraught. He should feel like he was going to break. Like the entire world had stopped. But he knew it hadn't. He knew that he was nothing in the grand scheme, and like Eren, like Levi before them, they were all just pieces lost to the tide, washed away, and unable to connect with the rush of time. They'd been stolen away and washed up, left to watch everyone they loved get swept back into the stream of time without them.

"I messed up," Armin repeated, finding his hands pressed to his forehead, his fingers laced in his hair. "I… I didn't think, Eren. I didn't know— in the end, I— I didn't know _anything_!"

Eren was watching with an empty expression. The blood caked to the side of his face was vivid today, glittering in the sunlight, illuminating his sallow face. His complexion was so cadaverous, clearly drained of color and life in this glimmering sunshine, that it was horrific to even really look at him directly.

"Armin," Eren said in a low, distant voice. "Shut the fuck up."

He felt as if he'd been struck with a whip. He jerked back, his chest seizing up, and he found himself wishing he could just disappear.

Eren looked at him with gauzy green eyes. And he looked right through him.

"Who did this?" he asked flatly. The air seemed to stand still. The wind had stopped. The sunlight did not seem to reach the forest floor.

Armin sat and stared.

"You know who did it," he replied softly.

Eren's expression changed. His empty gaze flashed with fire, flames sparking behind his cloudy eyes, his flesh twisting as his mouth peeled back into a snarl. He was alarmingly angry, his fury capturing all the air and all the light around him and concentrating it into his inner fire. Armin could only gape.

"Eren," Armin gasped, leaning forward and reaching out. "Eren, calm down—!"

His entire body seemed to be pulling itself apart, viciously flickering back and forth, to and fro, a thousand places at once, and nowhere at all.

"I'll kill him." Eren's voice rattled eerily all around them. Like a crack of thunder in the distance, rumbling closer and closer until it shook inside Armin's chest.

Armin didn't doubt that Eren should. It was if he could that concerned him.

Could Kenny even really be stopped at this point?

"Eren…"

Armin was left with an unbearable hollow sensation as Eren stared past him into whatever hell he'd entered the moment he had realized Armin had died.

Eren was gone in a strange whir, wind and water and a sucking breath whooshing through the air, and the whole forest was disoriented, trees and roots shaking in shock and fear, trembling from the earthquake that was Eren's indomitable wrath.

How long had Armin sat there, feeling the world turn, his existence throttling with the very sway of the breeze? He couldn't even try. He wasn't really there. He'd died, and he had to go soon, had to go away, fast as can be. Going away. Where? He couldn't really know that. He only knew, on pure instinct, that he was running on exhaust. That his entire existence was a technicality. An echo of the presence he'd built up in twenty one years alive.

Twenty one years. It seemed so short. So sad.

Twenty one years and he had nothing to show for it but a fleeting imprint of his visage on an ethereal plane, surviving solely on the last drops of his mind, thriving on the fervor of his memory that still resonated strongly with the few still living.

That was all.

It wasn't really enough to make a ghost, he realized.

He was not vengeful, and he was not strong, and he would not be missed so thoroughly that his soul would be dragged back again and again until he could call himself a haunting spirit. He had no place here.

Moving on was inevitable. He was nothing now. A wayward soul wavering among the leaves that shivered on the trees.

Standing up seemed foreign. It was as if he'd been standing the whole time. Had he? He had been? Had he?

This was too much.

The world was too much for someone who was now nothing but an amalgam of what he remembered of himself and what others remembered of him.

Who would remember him when he was gone for good?

Mikasa?

She was practically dead already.

"Mikasa…" He realized, quickly, his own mistake. How long had he been gone? How long had it been since he'd left Mikasa to discover his corpse, to break down, to die inside because of his mistake?

He felt like he was the worst person in the whole of creation.

How much time did he have left?

He was counting on his fingers the last breaths he could take. He didn't need to, but he could, and it was dizzying.

"What the hell are you doing?"

He was caught by the collar, throttled hard, his head bobbing as his vision swam.

What _was_ he doing?

He didn't really know.

"Look at me."

He looked.

He should have felt angry. Vengeful.

He didn't feel anything but an overwhelming wave of sorrow.

"Hello, Levi," he murmured.

He was shoved back, his feet grazing the ground, but never really disturbing the leaves or dirt. He didn't have the sort of presence that Levi or Eren did. He was not a ghost. He was not going to be here forever. He'd be here for another cycle of emotions, perhaps, before all that was in him was drained.

And all that he was with it.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Levi's expression was twisted. Pained. "Aren't you pissed? I helped kill you!"

"You helped kill Eren too," Armin whispered. He didn't feel anything as he said it, but he sensed Levi was affected by his words. He'd flinched. "I don't care, Levi. I don't care anymore."

"Is that supposed to be funny?" Levi's brow furrowed. "No. You're not even a ghost. You're just waiting to get your ass booted out of existence." His fists clenched, and he scoffed. "Wow. You're a fucking joke."

He stood, his throat open wide, his mouth shut tight, and he smiled.

"I feel like everything was for nothing," he admitted. He looked down at his hands, expecting them to not even be there. But they were. So why did he feel so empty? So distant?

"That's because you've given up," Levi stated flatly. "You have no drive. You have nothing tying you to earth. You died, and you are drawn to a place beyond this world." He shook his head, glowering out into the distance. "Must be nice."

"I don't understand…" Armin hugged himself. "I don't want to leave."

"Deep down," Levi said coldly, "you really do."

Armin felt like he was shrinking away.

"Why does it feel so bad?" he whispered. "Why can't I feel? Anything? It so empty here."

"Welcome to being dead, kiddo."

That was not reassuring in the least.

"What do I do?" He looked down at his hands again. Yeah, they were still there. It surprised him, but they were still there.

"You suck it up," Levi told him firmly. "Mikasa is going to die because you fell for a stupid trick. That might've been on me, but Mikasa's death will be on you if you don't help me get her out of this!"

"She'll want to die," Armin recalled, a spark of regret igniting within him. "Oh. Oh god…"

"Yeah," Levi snapped. "Oh fucking god. She's gonna die. Just like you. Just like me."

"Okay!" Armin held his head, feeling whoozy, but feeling something nonetheless. "Okay, I get it! I'm… I'm okay now!"

"You don't have to lie," Levi sighed, closing his eyes. "I remember what it's like. Realizing you're dead. You don't want to think anymore, because what's the point? Nothing is going to happen, so you might as well give up." Levi shot Armin a sharp glance. "Don't be like me, Armin. I gave up too fast. I don't know where my will to fight went, but it sure as hell isn't here anymore."

Armin didn't want to say anything. He didn't want to agree, and he certainly didn't want to make the situation any worse, but he felt so compelled to scream at the top of his lungs that he felt that he might burst. Hadn't he already given up? He was certain that he was on the fast track to disappearing altogether. He didn't exist now. He wouldn't exist now.

That was just how it went. Dying. Death. It ended like this. Not with a great revelation on the nature of the universe, but with a slow acceptance of the lack of knowledge of what awaited when the last grain of sand fell through the glass and one plane was swapped for another once more.

Souls were very fickle, it seemed. One place was not enough. They had a certain wanderlust once they were released from their shells, and they could not be bound to one simple place, no, they would go here and there and anywhere, without really knowing why or how.

To heaven, to hell, to anywhere in between, Armin would be.

But first, he had to make something right.

"I have to save Mikasa," he realized. Levi stared at him.

"Yeah?" He folded his arms across his chest. "How?"

Armin took a deep breath. He raked his fingers through his hair, and he looked around. "I…" he sighed, "I can't be sure yet! Maybe…" He paused. He had to think. Remember. Where had he been before this?

Ah.

Ah, right.

Kenny's house.

He stared at his hands, at the way they seemed to really be there, before his eyes, shaking unsteadily, trembling from his fear for no reason other than the fact that he associated anxiety with shaky hands, and he recalled something he'd done in his last hours, last breaths.

"I have an idea," he whispered. He raised his eyes to Levi. "We need Frieda."

"Fuck," Levi exhaled, closing his eyes. "Who's that again?"

"Frieda!" Armin groaned. "Historia's sister? God. It's so weird that you didn't even know who she was, she was so hellbent on ruining your life."

"What?" Levi asked flatly.

"Frieda was the one who was supposed to be the key to this whole ritual," Armin explained. He wasn't sure if he had all the details right, but this is what he'd surmised. "She'd been raised to become a… a goddess, I guess. Through ritualistic human sacrifice. But as she grew older she just didn't want to deal with it, so she killed herself. Leaving Historia." Though Armin was pretty sure that was a technicality. Frieda had very much intended to kill Historia along with her. Armin wasn't sure why that plan had fallen through.

He wanted to be glad it had, because Historia was alive now, and he'd gotten to meet her, be his friend.

But if Frieda had killed Historia along with herself, then none of this would have happened.

 _I understand now,_ he realized, _why Frieda wanted Historia to die so badly._

Even her treatment of Levi begun to make sense. She'd made his life miserable from the sidelines, purposefully adding more and more baggage to push him closer to the noose.

If Levi had killed himself before the ritual, that probably would have halted any progression.

"I don't understand," Levi said. "What the fuck does that have to do with me? I didn't know her."

"No, but she knew you." Armin stared into Levi's eyes. He felt dizzy. Like he was peering through a foggy window, but the window was his eyes, and the fog was an echo of his thoughts. "She knew all about you. She wanted you to kill yourself to end the ritual, like she did. Like she's been trying to get Historia to do."

"That's bullshit," Levi said. "I would have known."

"You didn't." Armin watched him, and he sighed. "She was friends with Erwin. A really bad friend, but they hung out. Listen, she fucked you up. I won't sugarcoat that, because you deserve to know. She manipulated you when you were a teenager because she wanted you to die early, die faster. In her own twisted way, she thought…" Armin was whoozy, his thoughts misting along the walls of his brain, glazing over his senses. "That she was saving you…"

Levi's face had gone stony. His jaw had tightened, and his eyes had narrowed, and he looked like he'd turned himself to steel, his eyes hard and cool, so sharp that they could slice through flesh with a glance.

"What did she do to me?" he asked quietly.

Armin knew Levi deserved to know, but he also knew that he needed Frieda. He was scared that Levi might react badly to this. So… morality or logic?

"She…" Armin had thrown his logic to the wind for the sake of his morality, for the sake of his emotional ties, for his guilt and fear. Logic told him this was a bad idea. That he shouldn't have brought any of this up in the first place. But his morals, which pleaded with him to fade into obscurity until he found himself in a better place, feeling more and feeling happy, would not budge.

So he let logic die.

He buried it in his own grave. It died with him, and that was that.

"She drugged you and Erwin," Armin said distantly, trying to recollect the memories he'd been shown. "Erwin didn't know about it. Maybe he'd feel better about what happened with you if he did. He… has it in his head that whatever happened was his fault. I don't know for sure."

Levi stared at him. Armin felt as though everything had frozen, that Levi had made everything frozen, because as he digested Armin's words, his eyes were widening with the horror and disgust and furor that was appropriate for this type of situation.

"That fucking _bitch_ ," he spat, his entire body curling back in a defensive hunch. "That… wait, I was drugged _twice_ that night?" Levi smacked his forehead in disbelief. "If I wasn't already dead, I'd want to die. And take her with me."

"She's also already dead," Armin said weakly. "And I need her for the plan."

"Fuck her, man!" Levi glowered at Armin. "Let her rot in hell! We'll do this by ourselves. Whatever you needed her for, get Eren to do it."

"Eren's…" Armin wasn't sure where Eren had gone. He had a bad feeling about it though. "I'm not really sure. I don't want to move on without him, though. Is it possible for me to wait?"

"I don't fucking know?" Levi grimaced. "If I fucking knew I'd be _gone_ , kid!"

"Yeah, yeah," Armin sighed. "Okay. Maybe we can do it with two people. The only problem is we need to distract Kenny. Can you do that?"

Levi stared at him. Perhaps he wasn't entirely sure. His expression softened a bit, and he looked suddenly confused.

"Maybe," he admitted, sounding unsure. "He'll probably catch on, though."

"We need Frieda," Armin said. "Let me talk to her. For now, we'll go back to Kenny's house. Do you know if Kenny caught Mikasa and Historia?"

"Well, yeah." Levi rolled his eyes. "That's kind of why you died, dumbass."

Armin didn't feel bitter or sad. Perhaps that was because we was just an echo of who he used to be. Maybe most of him had moved on already. Maybe this was just who he was, who he'd always been. He didn't know.

"Do you know if they're there now?"

"Kenny is a professional killer," Levi said calmly. "He's not going to burn a girl alive in his basement. If it had been my sacrifice, then yeah, he would've done it there, but since it's burning he'll probably be somewhere remote."

"You figure out where," Armin said. "I'll talk to Frieda while you do that."

"You getting the hang of the whole non-corporeal thing?" Levi cocked his head. "Huh. Maybe you're a ghost after all."

Armin didn't respond. He was already feeling himself rushing in a different direction, his thoughts aligning with his presence, and his presence landing in the cold, dark pit where his nightmares and horrors had been played before him and laid to rest.

He touched his throat pensively as he glanced around the basement. He couldn't even feel the way the jagged skin fell upon his neck. It was strange.

"You've returned," a haughty voice chirped from beneath the stairs. When Armin looked, he saw Frieda's pallid face, her stringy hair plastered to her neck as she tilted her head. She smirked. "Done with your tantrum?"

"Tantrum?" Armin repeated dully. "I found out I fucking died, Frieda. Excuse me for not being more positive."

"You missed the big reveal though," Frieda gasped, lifting up the object that had been resting in her lap.

Armin's own pasty face stared back at him, mouth parted, blood pooling from his cracked, busted, discolored lips, and his eyes wide open. Death clouded them, fogging his irises and making him seem so very blinded. And he was. He had been, and he would be. His hair was waxy, blood turning flaxen strands pink, flecking his bruised nose with red freckles, and smearing across his jaw. His neck was completely drenched, blood rising like a high collar to his chin.

Frieda held Armin's severed head in both hands, his bloody hair curling between her fingers.

"Oh," Armin said distantly. "I didn't know he dismembered me…"

 _That_ , he thought numbly, _explains why I feel so disconnected_.

"What a boring reaction," Frieda scoffed, resting her chin in Armin's dirty hair. She pouted. "I wanted to know, I guess. Are you just boring in general?"

"I didn't want to see my friends find out I was dead," Armin snapped.

"Well, let me give you the DL," Frieda said brightly, dropping his head behind her. Armin winced. "Neither of them really made a sound at first. I was expecting them to scream, but they didn't. Historia started breathing real heavy. Panicking. She doesn't have her memories, of course, but she knows she knows you, and that she cares about you, and internally her emotions can't match her thoughts. She's pretty devastated."

Armin felt guilty for that. Devastating his friend. Was that why he was still here, and hadn't immediately left this plane of existence?

"Mikasa just shut down," Frieda sighed, looking less enthusiastic. "She held your head for a while until Kenny came. Neither of them really spoke. They just went with him."

"And you didn't…" Armin's voice was shaky, "try to stop it…?"

"I've been trying to stop this for over a decade," Frieda told him coldly, her eyes sliding tiredly toward his face. "Give me a break, kid. I've been haunting this town since before you could even walk straight."

"Did you see Eren, at least?" Armin asked desperately.

"I'm not his keeper, buddy," Frieda said. "I couldn't tell you. He responds to you more than anyone else though, right? Because you killed him, right?" She paused to think about it. "Or maybe it's because he loves you? Or both? Hell if I know."

"Okay, well," Armin sighed, "do me a favor. Use my blood to write a message on the wall. Okay?"

Frieda watched him with a mild expression. She smiled fondly.

"You're such a strange kid," she said softly. "What do you want me to write, exactly?"

"Um." He glanced down at the pile of limbs discarded in a trash bag beneath the stairs. It seemed like Kenny had been in the middle of disposing them when he'd gone to take Historia and Mikasa wherever. "The location Kenny decided to take my friends?"

"I'm not psychic, honey," Frieda sighed.

"Yeah, I've got someone on that." Armin glanced around the basement. This would do. It was pretty clean, all things considering, but Armin's body was beginning to decay, and the rot left a distinct stench. "Did Eren really not come here?"

"No." Frieda peered at him curiously. "What are you planning?"

Armin pressed his hands to his mouth. What _was_ he planning? Would this even work? His logic had left him. Gone and died without warning. Discarded like trash.

So could this even possibly work?

Who knew?

All he knew for sure was that he was going to fucking try.

Even if it fucking killed him.

Again?

Yeah. Again.

Without warning, Levi was standing next him, looking properly pissed off. His face was pale in the dim light, his expression somber, his eyes flashing wildly.

"They're on their way to the Strip," he said quietly.

"Where on the Strip?" Armin asked, his heart sinking. "The Strip us huge!"

"Yeah, and it's also very level." Levi shot him a strange look. "If there's a fire out there, it'd be seen from Shiganshina to Trost, I'll tell you that."

"Cool." Frieda dipped two fingers into the bag that held Armin's dismembered limbs. When she withdrew them, they were dark red and glistening. "Why am I doing this again? Besides for the fun of it."

"Trust me." Armin watched as she began to draw her finger down one wall, his own blood gleaming against the yellowish light. "Sign my name at the end."

"Ooh, this is spooky," Frieda whispered, sounding giddy. "I love it."

"Shut the fuck up," Levi hissed, "and get this done."

"Chill, Levi." Frieda shot him a vague glance. She smiled thinly. "Armin told you, huh? Thought that might happen."

"Seriously." Levi flickered violently. "Shut the fuck up."

"Fine!" Frieda pried one of Armin's limbs—a bicep— from the bag, and swiped her fingers against the stump. She continued on with her writing. Yeah, she was definitely the right ghost for this job, that was for sure.

"Levi, I want you to stay here," Armin said thoughtfully. "Don't get involved with Kenny any more than I've already made you."

Levi looked at him, and for once he seemed genuinely shocked. And maybe even a little touched. His eyes softened, his lips parting as though to speak, but he seemed to awkward and confused to say whatever he meant. So he nodded.

"Frieda," Armin said, watching as the old ghost worked, looking all too pleased as she used his disembodied arm as a paint palette and drew letters like they were some renaissance masterpiece, a magnum opus only someone as twisted and sad as Frieda Reiss could create. "When you're done with that, I'll need you to help me distract Kenny. Since I'm not exactly haunting material."

"Oh my gosh, little dude," Frieda gasped, beaming back at him. "I'd love to haunt with you! I could be like a cool role model!"

"Why are you the way you are…?" Levi murmured, closing his eyes. "Fuckin'…"

"Listen, I wanted to die." Frieda offered a meager little shrug, and she smirked. "That gives you a lot of perspective as a ghost, y'know? Anyways, whoever you think is gonna see this, Armin, they might die of fright themselves."

"She won't," Armin said firmly. "I told you. Trust me."

"No offense, but you've been slacking on the good judgment aspect of your shitty ass personality," Levi told him coolly. "Will this work?"

"Honestly…?" Armin shrugged. "I couldn't tell you. But it's the only thing I've got left. I've run out of logic. I'm running on fumes right now."

"That sounds shitty," Frieda said, her fingers moving expertly across the wall, writing words like phantasms, letting the letters burn into the cement until they glowed with their own supernatural light, supernatural warmth, miniature suns reflecting off Armin's blood.

"It is."

He thought about Eren. How he had been when he'd left.

It scared him.

To scare the dead was a truly magnificent feat.

There were other things, other people he had to take into account for this to work. Jean, for instance, was still around somewhere. He didn't know that Armin was dead yet. Perhaps he was with Erwin. Hange was another person he'd nearly forgotten about. They were important. They knew the issues at hand, and could actually do something about it. Unlike Armin.

"Done," Frieda called, appearing beside him with bright eyes and reddened hands. His blood glistened on her slender, bony fingers. "What now?"

"You help me distract Kenny before he kills Mikasa," Armin said simply. This was all he could really do. Put off the inevitable.

Frieda smiled down at him, her eyes narrowing a little bit. "I can try," she said, "but I can't guarantee anything."

"That's okay." Armin was lying. He was terrified of what could become of this. Saving Mikasa was all that was tying him to earth, and he felt the pressure of her imminent demise. She wanted to die now, because he'd been careless, because he'd let himself fall into a trap. But she'd done the same, hadn't she? Hadn't they all?

"And I just stay here and fucking wait?" Levi looked bitter.

"I'm sick of Kenny controlling you," Armin snapped. "I _died_ because we didn't get the body parts Kenny harvested from you when we could have! Just stay here, Levi."

Levi's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing furiously. But he didn't object. Because he knew Armin was right, and that probably hurt.

Frieda whistled lowly. "Wow," she said, smirking back at Levi. "You fucked up pretty bad, huh?"

"Not as bad as you," Levi told her coolly.

She seemed to be legitimately taken aback by that, and she leaned away, blinking wildly.

Armin knew very little about Frieda Reiss. Her life had been a mess of strings, of duties and fates that clashed with her inner voice, her emotions muted by drugs and her thoughts whirring due to whatever manic disorder she'd found herself afflicted with. So her life had been a life and now in death she simply continued to fall into the same old routine, laughing away whatever qualms she had with feeling things.

He pitied her. She was such a sad, empty reflection of a life that hadn't been lived.

She and Levi were on opposite ends of the same extreme. One knowing nothing and the other knowing all.

Armin had to focus this time, feeling that he wasn't connected to the world enough to really take hold of where he might find Mikasa. Focusing wasn't really easy, not when he felt so distanced from everything around him, but he knew he had to try. When he wanted to leave Mikasa, it had been so easy. He'd just left, like zoning out and letting himself be swept up in a tide. This was more like trying to keep the sand beneath his feet from being sucked up by the waves as they crashed into his calves and retracted.

The basement was sucked away like the sweeping ocean, and he found himself standing among sand and dust, sunlight beating and sending heavy heat rays billowing through the air. He felt like he was standing in a desert, nothing around him but heat and sand, and the spires of civilization grazing the horizon in the distance.

To plummet to death in a forest, in a waterfall, to be tortured in a cold, dark basement until a knife opened up a throat, to be dragged from a sleek looking car and led to a pyre of modern making and burned to death amongst the heat haze and the sands of some long dead society.

This was how the world ended.

Mikasa was shoved harshly, her feet moving heavily across the ground. It was strange to think she would die in this place. She'd almost died her once, not so long ago, because of Levi, because of Kenny's influence. It was funny how things went.

"We'll make this easy," Kenny said, leading her toward a dusty, beaten up Camaro that had been parked among the swirling dust. "You'll drive this until you die. It'll be quick. A nice, quick death, and then you can see your friends again. Fair enough?"

Mikasa said nothing. Armin could not see her face, but her body was slack, like she wasn't controlling it, like she was a limp doll being jerked to and fro by steel chords.

Historia was nowhere to be seen. Armin wondered if she'd gotten away somehow.

"This looks pretty grim," Frieda admitted. She looked out of place in this stark, dry setting, her skin glistening from the water that had swallowed her up, her hair and dress damp and sticking to her pallid flesh.

"Well instead of just letting it happen," Armin hissed, glaring at her vehemently, "help me _fix_ this."

"I can try, but…" Frieda glanced around her, biting her lower lip. "This isn't really my element. I manifest myself in cold, dark settings! This is the complete opposite of cold and dark!"

"Frieda," Armin exhaled, feeling mildly furious. "You let me die. I was in a basement, where you could have easily intervened, but you didn't. I don't give a fuck about how you usually do things! Just help me do this now!"

"It's not that simple…" she uttered, looking shocked, and perhaps remorseful. Maybe she just hadn't thought to save him. Or maybe she just wasn't that nice.

"I don't care if you use all your fucking energy to do this," Armin told her sharply, feeling his body shaking, and realizing he was becoming unstable, his visage tearing like a piece of paper. "Disappear if you have to, Frieda. We're finishing this today, whether you're here or not!"

Frieda's eyes flashed so wide, big and glassy and horrified. Because he was implying that she cease to exist just to help him.

Eren would have done it if Armin had asked.

But Frieda wasn't Eren.

"I want to help, Armin," she told him in a small, shaky voice. "I really do…"

"Then do it!" Armin watched Historia slip out of the sleek looking car, looking dizzy and uncertain. She squinted through the sunlight, using her hand as a visor.

"I don't want to do this," she declared.

Kenny glanced back at her. He rolled his eyes, and he snatched a knife from his belt. Mikasa was jerked around, her back slamming against the door of the Camaro, her hair slipping against her cheeks, shielding her face from view. Kenny grabbed her wrist and sliced her hand open with a flick. It took a few seconds for the blood to pool, and Armin watched in horror as rivulets slid down her fingers, gathering up and dripping in quick successions onto the earth. The sand drank up her blood greedily, leaving not even a puddle in the dust.

Mikasa was released, left to hunch over defensively, her shoulders shaking. Probably in rage. Kenny marched up to Historia, who looked at him, her eyes flashing wide as Kenny snatched her by her hair, jerking her head back violently. Historia shrieked in pain. Armin saw that her neck was still raw and red from when Levi had tried to strangle her.

"Let me go!" Historia snapped, her tiny arms attempting to beat Kenny back. While her mouth was open, Kenny dangled the bloody knife over her face until a bead of blood dropped into her lips. She immediately began to coughed, clamping her hands over her mouth and hacking violently. Kenny threw her into the dust, kicking her back and causing her to cry out in an alarming shriek of pain. She curled up in the sand, rasping and gasping and shivering, her whole body quaking in pain and revulsion.

"What…" Historia coughed, her voice small and shaky. "What was that? I don't— I don't understand! Why are you doing this? Why— why…?" She continued to cough, curling further into herself, and Armin wished he could comfort her. But he barely existed. He was merely a spectator here.

Frieda lowered herself onto all fours, as she had earlier in the day, and she began to crawl. She was crawling toward Historia. Armin watched, realizing fearfully what she was doing.

"Frieda, no!" he snapped, appearing beside her as she tore the knife from Kenny's fingers.

Frieda had already flipped Historia around, raising the knife above her head to bring it down upon Historia's chest. She raised her eyes, glancing up at the terrifying ghost of her older sister, dripping wet and gripping her arm as she moved to stab her in the heart.

Historia screamed at the top of her lungs, a blood curdling scream that could reach the heavens and shake all of hell.

Armin tackled her, dragging her back as Historia shrieked again in pain. The knife had slashed against her ribs as Frieda had been yanked away.

"What the fuck?" Kenny spat, glancing at Historia as she grasped her bleeding side, practically hyperventilating. Armin was wrestling with Frieda, pinning her legs to the ground and attempting to wrench the knife from her fist.

"This isn't what I meant!" he snapped at her.

"This is the only way, you idiot!" Frieda elbowed him, but it didn't even hurt. It didn't faze him. He was no longer a prisoner to pain. So he continued to beat Frieda down, dragging her through the dust and squeezing her hand, praying she'd just drop the fucking knife. "You know that now! She has to die!"

"No she doesn't!" Armin let out a little breath of relief as the knife plopped into the sand. Frieda wriggled, her bony fingers gleaming in the flashes of liquid sunlight as she reached for it. Armin slammed her fist into the side of her face, beating her head back into the dust and watching her jerk away. "Kenny is the problem! It's never been about Historia, Frieda! You just make it all about her because you wish you'd killed her when you'd had the chance!"

"Shut up," Frieda murmured.

"No!" Armin snatched her by the front of her wet white dress, dragging her shoulders upright. "Listen to me. You shouldn't have died! You shouldn't have been driven to that point, and you know it! Nobody should have died, Frieda, it's just ridiculous. This should have been stopped a decade and a half ago."

She exhaled sharply, her gauzy eyes flickering away from his face. She looked uncertain, like his words were falling inside her head and hitting sharp ledges, smearing across her brain as they descended into a bottomless pit.

"Looks like we've got some company, eh, baby doll?" Kenny marched up to Mikasa, who'd raised her head only to stare vacantly at Historia's writhing little body. Her eyes were hollow, her face drained of color and her lips parted. "Time to head out."

"Will you do something?" Armin snapped at Frieda. "You said you could do something, so just do it! Anything!"

"I…" Frieda's expression seemed to fizzle, her emotions drying up as she closed herself behind a wall of vacancy, her limbs folding up in the dust. Armin released her, watching as she fell back and disappeared into the sand, leaving nothing but a cough of air and a wet spot drying fast in the dirt.

Armin wanted to sink into the dust too. To disappear altogether.

But that wasn't an option right now.

He stood shakily, his fury the only thing keeping him there, his love and loss dried up like the sands around him. He couldn't think or feel, connect or touch, so he simply left himself in this unbearable rut of rage.

What could he do? He was powerless.

"Eren…" Armin whispered, watching as Mikasa was buckled into the front seat of the Camaro. Kenny was whispering something to her, his head bent low, his long fingers dragging over her chin. He smiled, and he slammed the door shut.

Armin appeared beside the car, his fingers flashing through the faded paint that chipped away around the door handle. "Mikasa," he gasped, his hands fumbling through and through and through again, brushing through the car like it was made of air. "Mikasa, I'm here! I'm right next to you! Please listen to me, okay, don't do this!"

Through the window, he saw her stare at the keys in her hands.

Her fingers were trembling like a violent wind as she led them toward the ignition.

Armin couldn't deal with this.

"No," he whispered. "No, no, no—!"

He watched as the car revved, and dust spit beneath its tires. This wasn't the racetrack. This was just an empty strip of land. The Camaro went with a great burst of speed, a bullet made to ricochet and burst apart.

"Mikasa…!"

 _I didn't want this_ , he thought numbly. _I wanted all of us to be together, but not like this! Not in death!_

The more he thought about it, the more upset he became.

He was a wisp now. His rage was fading, and he couldn't feel anything but regret, watching the car that had been designated as Mikasa's tomb zip away.

Armin didn't even scream when the car exploded.

He just watched and listened, the earth shaking like an unsteady camera lens, the whole earth rattling in response to the blooming flames and the raining of smoking metal scraps.

That sound was coupled only by the wail of sirens in the distance. From somewhere. From nowhere.

He was everywhere now.

And then he heard it. The soft, muffled sobs that came from the great smoking husk of the old Camaro. Several yards away from the crash site, Mikasa was curled in the sand, her head resting in a lap, her fingers clutching at a man's sleeve.

Levi held onto her, his expression somber and his grip tight. He met Armin's eye, and he gave a curt nod.

"What are you doing here?" Armin whispered. He heard his voice like it was the whistle of a breeze between leaves.

Levi closed his eyes. He rested his hand against Mikasa's head.

"She's the only good thing left," he said quietly. "I guess… fuck, I don't know. Maybe saving her is worth losing myself over."

Armin was shaky. His relief drew over him, and he felt tears bubble up in his eyes, falling fat and heavy.

"Thank you…" He smiled tremulously. "Thank you… so much…"

"Don't thank me just yet," Levi muttered. He jerked his chin, and Armin glanced behind him. Kenny had decidedly marched toward Mikasa, probably noting she wasn't burning like she was supposed to be.

"God," he sighed, "you dumb little bitch. Who the fuck saved you this time? Was it that goddamn Jaeger brat again?"

Mikasa didn't respond. She curled into Levi's embrace. Armin sensed she really wished she was dead right now.

"This was supposed to be an easy out for you!" Kenny looked furious. "Why didn't you just take it? You can't live, you idiot!"

"Leave her alone," Levi snapped.

Kenny's eyes dragged toward Levi's face. He seemed to search the air, like he had trouble focusing. He grimaced.

"Ah," he said. "So it was _you_."

"Levi, what the fuck are you doing?" Armin hissed.

Levi shot him a glare that suggested Armin knew _exactly_ what Levi was doing.

"Are you surprised?" Levi's voice was raw and scratchy. "I'm here. I'm here, and I'm fucking tired. Let me go. Stop using my soul for your fucking dirty work!"

"Will you quit begging on your knees like a little whore?" Kenny sneered. "You've been nothing all your life, so be grateful you get to be something in your death."

"Grateful?" Levi snapped. "You tortured and murdered me and buried my corpse under a shed in the woods. Now you use my unwilling fucking soul to lure kids to their deaths! And I'm supposed to be fucking _grateful_?"

The sirens were getting louder now.

"Keep going," Armin gasped, turning his attention toward the horizon. "This… this might work!"

"Why do you always take everything so personally?" Kenny sighed, closing his eyes. "Damn it. Your souls will just be eaten up anyway. Why do you insist on clutching to these washed up old feelings like guilt and sadness and fear, anyway? You're already dead!"

"I care because I didn't get to feel anything when I was alive," Levi said coldly. "You made sure of that."

Armin saw Annie's squad car pulling closer, and he wanted to cry from disbelief. She was here. She'd gone to Kenny's house like she'd promised, seen his message, seen his _corpse_.

And now she was here.

It was over.

Armin had won.

The sound of a knife sheathing into flesh, and a gasp of pain made his attention snap back to the matter at hand. Kenny. Mikasa. Levi.

Historia.

The knife Frieda had dropped.

Historia tore the knife from Kenny's back, and she stabbed him again in the shoulder. She ripped it out, her palm bright red and slick, her expression twisted in undying hatred and rage, and she buried the knife in his spine. Again. She yanked her arm back, and let the ribbed steel slice through his kidneys, his lower intestine, his lung, his other lung, until blood began to spur out and splash hotly against her cheeks, flecking her spun gold hair.

She bared her teeth.

"Welcome to the land of the dead, motherfucker," she snarled.

Her voice was demonic, a sweetened lilt of her own soprano voice mixed with the heavy drum of Eren's unrepentant fury.

The knife kept going. Kenny fell onto his side, and Historia merely kicked him, raising the knife and poking holes wherever she could find empty spaces.

"Die," she sang brightly, darkly, her eyes a mix of death and life, of ignorance and disgust. "Die, you goddamn monster, and let us all fucking rest in peace already!"

And then, without warning, she dropped the knife.

She looked down at her hands vacantly, blood painting her flesh up to her elbows, freckling her pale cheeks.

Eren stood beside her, looked faded and thin, his face hollow and eyes empty pits.

Historia stared at her hands, her mouth parting.

For a fraction of a second, her lips quirked into a smile.

And then she screamed.

And Eren screamed too.

He threw his head back, and he screamed into the heavens, because he had nothing left to really scream about.

Except perhaps that life wasn't fair when you were alive, so it makes sense that it doesn't get any easier after you die.

Armin wanted to scream too.

But instead he just moved to Eren's side. He took his hand, which was so strangely soft and so strangely _there_. Eren fought against him, tearing his hand away and stumbling back, his face falling into his hands. He kept screaming, screaming, screaming. The police officers were swarming them, rushing but all slow, slow, slow, and Armin realized that none of them mattered. It was like none of this was real anymore.

Beyond Eren's anguished scream, there was absolutely nothing.

Armin felt like he could drown in this revelation.

The world was dust, and so was he.

"Eren..." Armin reached out. He tried to get a grasp on Eren's hands. Eren beat them off. So Armin stood and stared, the world washing over him, and oh, it was such a dulling sensation. To know that you did not belong. "Eren... please..." When Armin reached, he felt like he was grappling at the dark. "Where... are you...? Where... did you go...?"

He was falling away. And maybe that was better, better, better.

What could keep him from moving on now?

His fingers were caught by the tips, and he found that the deep veil of sleep that had dragged over his eyes had fallen away. He felt like he was being dredged up from beneath an ocean wave, and he gasped, plodding and plummeting into some wayward version of reality.

Eren's eyes were swimming with tears. They were the only thing in the whole wide world. The only thing that could be in focus.

"You can't leave me," he whispered, gripping Armin's hands. "You can't leave me alone. I won't let you go."

"Eren..." Armin wanted to laugh. He fell dizzily against Eren's shoulder, and clung to the foreign edge of his skin. It was like trying to hold on to a frayed rope. "I don't know if I can promise... that I won't move on."

"If you loved me," Eren told him in a voice like water pattering, "you'd stay until I'm ready to go."

Armin was struck by how unbearably selfish that sounded. But he clung to Eren anyway. He didn't know if he was a ghost, or if where he was was real, or if there was a sky or a ground or air to breathe. All he knew was that there was Eren. And that was enough, perhaps, to keep a soul clinging.

"Then," Armin said faintly, looping his fingers through Eren's and leaning against him heavily, "I think I'll stay."

"Forever?"

Armin was staring. There was no Strip, there was no day, there was no real world beyond Eren's hand in Armin's.

"If that's how long it takes," Armin said, "for Mikasa to live out her life, then yes, forever and ever. But, Eren, you have to keep me here. I'm not strong like you."

"Sit with me," Eren said suddenly. When Armin looked around, he found that they were in the forest again. "Don't let go of my hand. We can wait forever. Just like this."

Armin felt, perhaps for the first time, a sense of peace.

"Just like this."


	26. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello.. it's been awhile, huh? i guess i should have a real explanation about why this epilogue took so long for me to post, but the truth is that i just didn't like it.
> 
> and then i reread it. i like it a lot better now than i did six months ago. it's funny, the only reason i even looked at this epilogue again was because doe (who this fic was a gift for) got excited about my phone background being a painting fem did of eren from this fic. i got nostalgic. i'm glad i did. i feel like this fic was driven on nostalgia.
> 
> without further ado, enjoy the final chapter of echo answers.

"This is a goddamn mess, Leonhart."

She took a great gulp of coffee from her paper cup, only half-listening to Marlow gripe at her as she observed the sun's steady ascent from beyond the spotty horizon. The sky was growing gray, a stone causing ripples in the cosmos, blacks becoming blues and stars becoming clouds. If she stared long enough, she might go blind from the exposure. She was fine with that.

"Leonhart, are you listening?" Marlow's voice was sharp and furious. His fury wasn't directed at her, she knew, so she just continued to ignore him. " _Annie_!"

She shot him a cold glower. Her cup was attached to her lips, and she could not remove it. She needed more coffee. She needed a bigger cup with more coffee, half of it being spiked with vodka.

Marlow took a deep breath. His knuckles were white at his sides.

"Annie," he said gently, his expression softening. "I know you're sad. You were friends with the victim, and no one would blame you if you went home."

"I'm not going home," she said firmly. "We have too many bodies to bury."

"They won't all be buried today." Marlow was watching her tiredly. They'd been up for over twenty four hours. She took a gulp of her coffee. It was lukewarm. Sugarless and flat as it washed down her throat. "Or tomorrow, it looks like. Trust me, get to bed before the reporters come."

"And leave them?" Annie's eyes shot down the hall where Historia had been taken. Mikasa's wounds had been minor, a few scrapes and burns that had been patched up quickly. She was now sleeping. "I don't think so, Marlow."

"There's nothing else we can do for them right now," Marlow gasped. "Annie, go get some sleep!"

"No."

The truth was, she had to be present for the official interrogation.

Because she was a witness. She had to have her account put on record.

Where to begin?

She started with the previous night. Armin's call, her reluctant agreement. She should have known then. She let it go on record.

"I should have known then," she said quietly. "He promised he'd never ask me for anything ever again. I didn't believe him at the time because it was such a blatant lie. But it was true."

They had to be separated. She didn't get to hear what Mikasa had to say. If she said anything.

"Armin told me to go to Kenny's house," she said. "He'd been trying to convince me for weeks that I'd find some kind of proof there. I didn't believe that either. But I said I'd do it. And I did it. And you know what I found?" She thumbed the lid of her cold coffee. The plastic dented. "Armin's dismembered corpse in the basement."

And how did she know where to find Kenny Ackerman?

"Did you even look at the basement?" Annie's knuckles were white, and she felt a chill shivering through her. The air had been sucked out of the room. There was no explanation. "There was a note on the wall, written in Armin's blood, signed by Armin, saying to go to the Strip. So I went to the Strip."

How does a dead boy write notes?

"I don't know," she said flatly. "You tell me."

The pictures of the crime scene had been taken, of course. Nobody at the precinct knew what to make of The Armin Note. That's what they were calling it. Some of the morning staff were theorizing, making up stories about how Armin could have written the note before he'd been dismembered. But none of those theories accounted for the fact that Kenny, or whoever had dismembered him, had to have seen the note. It made no sense.

Annie didn't say it was a ghost.

No one said it was a ghost.

Even though they all knew, there was no spoken confirmation of this bizarre occurrence. Nobody wanted to admit it.

What happened after she had arrived?

"Marlow and I got out of the squad car." She was speaking mechanically. Recollection was hazy. A dream. A nightmare. "I had my gun. We'd seen the explosion— heard it a mile away. I'm not sure what I was thinking. I was scared for Mikasa."

Why Mikasa specifically?

She shifted in discomfort. Speaking to Mikasa would be hard. Right now, Annie could easily block out all her emotions. She was fine. She could tell herself that it didn't affect her. And it didn't. See? It was easy. But once she saw Mikasa and realized that it was all real, she felt like she wouldn't be so stable.

"Kenny has been a suspected serial killer for a while now," Annie said. "We all knew Mikasa would be his next victim. There have been incidents leading up to this where Mikasa's life has been put in danger due to fire. I noticed. But I couldn't do anything without the support of Shiganshina's Police Department, so it came down to this."

Was the SPD really so useless?

"Yes." She didn't even bother sugarcoating it. She was staring. Looking at nothing in particular, but unblinkingly gazing nonetheless. "We have been neglecting missing persons cases since before joining the force was a passing thought in my brain. Levi Ackerman. Eren Jaeger. Armin thought they were connected, that Kenny was responsible for their deaths. I think he was right."

She couldn't mention of course that she knew exactly who had killed Eren Jaeger. Armin was dead now, there was no use protecting him. But she wanted Kenny to take the blame anyway.

So after she had arrived?

"Right…" She closed her eyes, feeling distant and somber. "We approached the crash site. Mikasa had been driving, it seemed, and she had been able to escape before it had exploded. There had been a struggle. By the time we got to them, Historia had already killed Kenny."

Out of self-defense?

"She had wounds from the same knife," Annie said. "I'd say it was definitely self-defense."

There were no further questions.

She could go home if she wanted.

What did she want?

She wanted Armin Arlert to be alive again.

But that was an impossible wish.

So she settled for the only option she could really fathom.

She got into a car, and she drove.

Where? Where was she going? Where did this story end?

She wanted nothing to do with that. She just wanted to drive away.

Part of her wanted to nod off and skid off the road, but she was too attentive, too prone to self-preservation. And so she drove, her white knuckles gripping the steering wheel, her lips trembling as tears streaked her cheeks, and she bit her tongue as the sob shuddered in her chest.

She drove until a figure ran out into the road. She slammed on her brakes, and her back collided with her seat, her breath leaving her and her heart palpitating. The person slammed their hands on the hood of her car.

"Annie!" Jean snarled. "Get the fuck out here!"

She didn't know how to handle this. It shouldn't be her responsibility. So why the hell was it? She was choking sobs, her face red and splotchy as she wiped her sleeve against her cheeks. Cautiously, she pulled over. Jean didn't give her the time to get out of the car. He merely jumped right in the passenger's side.

"Annie," he growled.

She stared ahead of her solemnly.

"Annie, where the hell are Mikasa and Armin?"

She exhaled.

"I saw the news. The explosion, Kenny's death. But what about Mikasa and Armin? The hospital won't let me see them!"

Annie looked at Jean. Her eyes burnt. She was so tired.

"Armin is dead, Jean," Annie said dully. "Please get out."

Jean sat in the passenger's seat, his face reflecting his shock, his brow knitting bemusedly. It did not sink in. She knew it would take a while. Jean had not seen the corpse. The dismembered pieces of Armin dumped in a bag under the stairs. Annie thought that maybe Jean would never accept the truth, because he was stuttering, stammering, stalling for an explanation, trying to reach for the words that would never come.

"You're lying," he said.

"Get out, Jean."

"Why would you lie like that?" Jean's voice was weak. "Armin's not—!"

"You watched the news." Annie leaned back, her eyes closing, allowing for the burning sensation to somewhat subside. "You know there was a corpse found in Kenny's basement."

"That doesn't mean it was Armin!"

Annie's eyes snapped open, and she shot him a glower so fierce that she watched him jerk back in shock. "I found him, Jean." She shook her head. Her voice sounded distant. Hoarse. She wanted to drag her fingers down her throat and tear her larynx out.

And just like that, Jean's face crumpled.

"Oh," he uttered.

The distance between them grew so wide.

Who was this guy? He didn't belong here.

He was not part of this town. He did not understand.

These things happened all the time.

Death, though an unhappy and distressful occurrence, was too common to really cause much of a stir. Especially within her.

She thought this, yes. But even so, tears bubbled up in her eyes, falling quick and silent against her cheeks.

"Just go," she said quietly, dashing the tears away. Her fingers clung to her skin, her nails scraping her cheeks, and she just wanted to sleep. Lie down. Never wake up.

Jean said nothing. He sat beside her, his eyes cast forward, his eyes wide. It was like he'd never known real death before. And perhaps he hadn't. Had it ever occurred to Jean that he might live the horror he'd been investigating since coming here? She was sure it had. But it never had settled, clearly, because he was shaking now, his body sinking into the seat as he held his head gingerly.

"Did he suffer?" he asked hoarsely, his eyes flashing to hers. "Do you know?"

She wanted to lie to him. She wanted to tell him that it had been a quick death, and that Armin had not been in very much pain at all. But this was a murder, and there would be publications about the gruesome details of Armin's demise.

Lying could not save her from her own helplessness.

She was drowning in a sense that she'd lost everything. Armin had been important to her, yes, but he hadn't been everything. So why did she feel like he had been? Why did it feel like all the stars in the sky had blown out?

Those stars had already been dead anyway. It was more like the world had just caught up, and the sky reflected the true vacuity of space.

"I'd have to read the autopsy report to know for sure," Annie told him, "but it's possible it was quick."

Jean exhaled shakily. He whisked his hands through his hair, and he closed his eyes.

"I don't feel anything," he whispered.

Annie glanced at him sharply. How strange.

He, who had been closer, who had known Armin better, felt nothing.

She, who was dispassionate and reclusive and out of touch, felt everything.

They were being pulled on strings, him and her. Hers were tugging at her skin, pulling her muscles softly apart. His were slackening and falling all around him, tripping him up, watching him fall, coiling around his throat, and lovingly strangling him.

Armin had hurt them.

He hadn't meant to, but he had.

"I was with Hange…" Jean didn't look at her. He had the face of a man who'd aged three decades in one minute. "They were just telling me that the DNA evidence supported the fact that Levi had been killed by the knife Armin had stolen from Historia's shop."

"What?" Annie straightened up. "Hold up. Historia's shop?"

Jean sighed. He glanced at her tiredly. "Kenny had her under his thumb. She knew about the murders, but she couldn't do anything because he scared her."

"Giving her ample motive to kill him," Annie muttered. She relaxed. "Historia probably won't be charged with anything. It was self-defense."

"So Historia killed him?" Jean actually smiled. He rested his fist against his cheek. "Good. I'm going to buy that girl an entire store's worth of chocolate."

Annie looked away. "The funeral won't be for a few days," she said.

"Are they going to dig Eren up?" Jean asked with a surprising amount of eagerness.

"What?"

"Eren." Jean's eyes were dead, but his voice was firm. He had composure now. How? How did he do that? "Eren and Armin should be buried together. They'd probably want it that way."

"That's…" Annie could not formulate a proper response.

"Mikasa will agree." Jean opened the passenger door, climbing out. "She'll be sad, but this is how she'll want it too."

"Jean, no one knows where Eren is buried!"

Jean shrugged. "Not _yet_."

He slammed the door shut.

Annie sat in silence.

Slowly, she lowered her forehead to the steering wheel.

She wanted to sleep.

But sleeping forever was not an option. She was not dead, and she would not die, and so she would watch them lower a casket full of stitched up limbs into the ground. And she would not cry again.

She was a creature of habit, after all.

* * *

There was nothing. No response. No reply. There was nothing left.

It wasn't like she was impatient. Actually, she was quite the opposite.

She waited a few days. She sat in the chair beside Historia's hospital bed, nursing the wounds she'd been given by the explosion. Ymir came and went, speaking to her candidly. She hardly heard what Ymir actually said, but it was the truth regardless.

"Pick your head up, you stupid bitch," Ymir told her flatly. "This life wasn't made to be fair. You don't get your happy endings when you're human. But you're still alive, and that's a fucking gift, so while you're still here make the most of it. Okay?"

Mikasa stared. She didn't nod or anything, but she did think it through. Ymir was right, unsurprisingly. Mikasa was alive, and that did matter. She had to keep going, even if she felt like falling behind and losing herself in the grief.

Part of her was chanting that she should have just fucking died.

Everyone she loved was dead, after all.

So she should have died.

But she hadn't.

And that was acceptable, probably.

Like, she'd be okay. She knew she'd be okay.

Give it five years. Maybe ten.

Coping would be easier when she got busier.

Historia woke up. She asked what had happened. Mikasa knew she knew, that she was playing dumb. Even with amnesia, she felt the need to play stupid. That was so frustrating.

A few days passed. Nothing. Not a single chirp of a disembodied voice. Not a flash of pallid flesh. Not a single breath of unnaturally chilly air. It was like she'd been abandoned.

Historia was released. They were both interrogated. There was no trial, or anything. Nobody was going to lock Historia up for killing a murderer.

Armin had to be buried.

Jean was insistent.

"Tell Annie where Eren is buried," he told her. Every time he saw her, which was not all that often now. She was living temporarily with Historia and Ymir.

She didn't want to go back home.

Home was filled with ghosts.

"No," she replied. Every time.

"You're selfish," Jean snapped at her. As she walked away. She was not going to deny it. It felt like an accurate accusation. "You know this is what they'd want, Mikasa! I thought you cared more about them than this!"

At night she stared at shadows that danced a devil's waltz upon the vacant ceilings. When would sleep come to her? She needed it. It was such an old comfort, an old friend. And like all her old friends, it had left. What could she do to make it return?

On more than one occasion, Historia appeared in the middle of the night. They sat on the futon together and stared up at the ceiling.

"You can tell me where Eren was buried," she said softly. "I'm beginning to remember things. I know I was there. I know I was there when Levi died too. You can let me take all the blame, you know."

"No," she said.

Historia looked away. Her soft blonde hair curled around her rosy cheeks. Her eyes were dead and bruised, mauve circles bleeding into her skin.

"Okay, Mikasa," she said softly.

She didn't push. It made Mikasa sad. She wanted Historia to yell at her for being selfish like Jean had. But Historia was empathetic. She did not want Mikasa to feel any worse.

Maybe that was why she decided to go for it.

What could possibly happen?

She couldn't wait around forever for Eren to show up.

So she told Historia where to go to find Eren's body. Historia, in turn, told Annie.

A week later, the bodies were recovered. Mikasa watched the black body bags being carried out from between the rickety trees. She watched. She waited.

Historia had to do interviews. Erwin basically became an agent of sorts, making sure everything was in order, making sure she didn't say too much. She stuck to one story, and that was what was recorded in the papers.

Kenny had killed Levi. He had killed Eren. He'd tried to kill Mikasa too.

Why?

The Prime Minister told him to.

The whole media went fucking wild.

Historia went on to list accusations against her father that no one could really dispute. She was really his daughter, no one could deny that. She talked about her sister, who'd killed herself because of the pressure her father had put on her. She made it known that Rod Reiss had an obsession with the occult, and tried to convince Historia to become a god.

Needless to say, he didn't last very long in office after that.

Mikasa went to the funeral.

Every single one.

Armin's was first. It was cold. Wet. Though summer was approaching fast, this day was like bottled miasma. Fog slithered between headstones, and the grass sunk beneath her feet. The earth seemed to swallow up her feet. Begging her to climb into it. It wanted to wrap her in a warm embrace and shield her from the cold.

Rain came like a shivery mist. It kissed her cheek and her neck and her hands. It kissed her eyelids, clung to her skin, and it wanted her to lie down, to sing it a lullaby, and she would if she could but she couldn't.

She watched the casket go. She ached to follow it.

The next was Kenny's.

Why would she even go to Kenny's?

It was a humid day. The clouds were fat and angry. Thunder was restlessly waiting to fall apart on the horizon, and she could taste the acidic tingle of a storm on the rise. No one else really came. She didn't have to pay for this, but she had anyway. Kenny's money went to her, so she gave him a funeral. She gave him a casket. Hell, she even gave him his own stone.

It said his name. When he was born. When he died.

He deserved none of it. But she gave it to him.

And then there was Eren's.

Jean was at her back when they watched Eren's casket lowered beside Armin's still fresh grave. The sun was glittering madly above them, beating on their necks, baking the earth. It was not particularly hot, but she was sweating anyway. Her palms were perspiring, and it took most of her will not to wipe them anxiously on her dress.

She was not beckoned to the earth. She was not chased away by the distant, rumbling sky.

She was caressed by a warm gleam of sunlight. She stood on level ground, and felt at peace.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she told Carla Jaeger mechanically.

She gathered Mikasa up in a great, soul-crushing hug.

"Don't apologize to me," the woman murmured into Mikasa's hair. "I'm so thankful… I know where he is… I know where he's gone…"

What could Mikasa do?

She didn't have the same comfort as Carla. Eren didn't respond to her calls. Eren had not even said goodbye after killing Kenny.

She let her arms wind around Carla Jaeger's thin shoulders. She cried into her collarbone, but did not make a sound.

Levi's funeral was last.

Wasn't that ironic? He'd died first, after all.

They went to Temple. It felt familiar. Nostalgic. She had a long conversation with the Rabbi about death and life and how strange survivor's guilt was. He told her that he remembered her, even though she felt like she'd never seen him before. Apparently Levi had taken her to Temple once or twice or thrice. She didn't really recall, but she was thankful.

It was a quiet ceremony. More people arrived than expected.

Erwin spoke. He briefly explained Levi's memory problems, which offered some murmurings. Mikasa didn't speak. She didn't want to.

She hadn't even tried to reach out to Levi.

He had saved her life. He had loved her.

 _And now,_ she thought, _he can finally rest in fucking peace._

A month passed. She was still living with Historia and Ymir. She'd begun paying rent. Jean had moved back to Trost, but visited her weekly.

They sometimes talked about Armin. But they both got too sad to continue by that point.

A few months passed, and when Jean visited, they hardly talked at all.

Some point in the next few years, he just stopped visiting.

Ymir asked about it once. Just out of curiosity. Mikasa didn't know how to respond.

She'd lost him because she could not keep him contained in a bubble of grief.

He moved on. She didn't.

That was how things went.

Historia wanted to move away. Mikasa didn't.

What was she waiting for?

Ymir called her selfish when no one else would. It woke her up.

What was she doing?

Where did she go from here?

Years had gone by, and she was calling names to the wind.

Historia wanted to leave, and she was _begging_ Mikasa to say that she wanted to leave too.

Why was that?

Why didn't she just leave her behind?

"She loves you," Ymir told her curtly. "So do us all a favor and open your heart a little. You'll never be happy if the only people you love are dead."

So she left. The three of them went to live in a pretty house near the sea.

All the while, she felt like she'd left herself behind.

But it made Historia happy.

She could be content with that.

Mikasa Ackerman never raced again. She didn't have any reason to.

The final race had been between her and death.

And she'd won.

When it came down to it, she realized she'd gotten what she had wanted.

Her life was quiet and simple. She had Ymir and Historia to love and accept her. It was peaceful. There were no ghosts to claw at the walls at night.

Once they'd seen a horror movie called _Find You, Find Me_. They had not gone in expecting much, but it became apparent as they were watching that they knew this story well.

Mikasa was enthralled. She wanted to leave, because it hurt to watch her own story being told on screen, but she couldn't.

It was like her heart had returned to her. Like the world had been leached of color, and suddenly it all had returned in a burst. It burst apart.

When she saw Jean's name tacked on to the end credits, she burst apart into unseemly laughter.

It was fun to reconnect. Jean was eager and happy, and she let him talk because she didn't have much to say. His life was exciting and endearing. He made movies now. He told stories, and people loved them. She just fixed cars and let Historia braid her hair. But that was fine. She realized that she was content with that.

"You still miss them." It wasn't phrased like a question. Jean stared into her eyes, and he stated it with the most sincere gaze.

"I'll miss them until I die," she said calmly. "And only then because I won't have to miss them anymore."

Jean managed a small, sad smile.

"I hope they're happy," he said. "I hope you're happy too."

She didn't want to say what she was thinking.

That she'd only be happy when she was dead.

So she just smiled, and nodded, and the conversation shifted to something else.

It was strange. She lived such a long life. She hadn't wanted that. Like, didn't old people usually just give up and die when they had nothing else to live for? She often thought about that. She could die whenever, so why hadn't she?

Maybe she lied to herself consistently. Maybe all she'd really wanted was a life of her own.

She went back to Shiganshina a few decades after she'd left. It hadn't changed much. It was familiar in that she felt stifled when she passed beneath the canopies. She took a walk through the forest, and she wished for a familiar breath of cool air upon her back. She passed by the place where the shack had once been, but now it was merely a cement platform covered in leaves and weeds and ivy.

Titan's Maw never changed. It roared and spat. She did not waste her time watching the waterfall churn. Instead, she made her way to the graveyard.

It wasn't a trial to walk. She liked walking. She was an old woman now, but she didn't feel so old. She felt like she hadn't aged, like she was stuck in one state of mind for eternity. Her body went as she commanded it. Even if she was weary, she supposed she'd always been that way.

The graves were well taken care of. She'd asked around before coming here about who tended to them.

It was Reiner Braun. Figured.

She sat down between the graves. It was a nice, brisk autumn day. The sun was peeking out between the fluffy white clouds. The wind whispered at her back.

As she was tracing Armin's name, she felt the wind's whispering become more urgent. It was tickling the back of her neck. It wrapped itself around her and nuzzled her shoulder.

"You're back."

Her throat closed up.

The wind had stopped blowing, she realized.

She couldn't breathe.

Slowly, she turned around.

"Armin?" she whispered. Her voice was shaky and thin. Her lips trembled.

"We've been waiting," he gasped, gripping her hands tightly.

"I'm sorry," she uttered, tears falling quick. "I… I didn't know, I—!"

"Why the hell are you apologizing?" Eren was sitting right beside her, looking at her with vibrant eyes. His skin was warm and brown. She reached out and touched his cheek, finding that it was soft. He smiled at her. "We were waiting, yeah, but we were prepared to wait. We'd wait forever for you."

"We didn't want you to come find us," Armin piped up. "That's why Eren didn't respond when you called him. We wanted you to be happy without us."

"I wasn't!" She shook her head furiously. "I wasn't happy at all! How could I be?"

"Don't lie," Eren sighed. "I know you had some good times. Yeah, you had bad times too, but so what? Mikasa, that's life. It's mostly bad, but when it's good it's great. And you got to live it all." He reached up and clutched her hand against his cheek. "Congratulations."

"I didn't mean to make you wait so long," she whispered.

"I'm glad you did," Eren huffed. "I'm so fucking glad that we had to wait. It was a relief."

"Waiting for you made it feel like our deaths were worth it," Armin said gently.

"Like it meant something," Eren said.

"Like we got to live fulfilling lives," Armin said, "because you did."

"It didn't feel fulfilling at all without you," she gasped, glancing between them wildly. "Please… please don't leave me again."

Eren stared at her. His green eyes softened, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Armin leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers.

"Never," Armin said. His voice was bright. Happy.

And she was happy too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end :)


End file.
